


happiness is something we create

by hummingbirdswords



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bonding, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Road Trips, mayhaps they're becoming camper wives, moochdocking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 09:46:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27968525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummingbirdswords/pseuds/hummingbirdswords
Summary: Emma once believed the price of her magic, of being the savior, was that she didn’t get moments, that she didn’t get to live the boring, monotonous life with routines that she secretly craved. This belief now debunked, she wonders if maybe the curse of her magic is never truly being satisfied. Because when has Emma ever felt completely content? When has she ever really felt like she had everything she could ask for? Every time she thought she had what she wanted, she soon felt like there was a missing piece.Feeling insignificant and bored with life as the sheriff of a Storybrooke that no longer needs a savior, is it time Emma searched elsewhere for the elusive more she seeks from life?(or, the one with gal pals and moochdocking adventures. it's a road trip fic, y'all)
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan
Comments: 54
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title borrowed from something more by sugarland (give it a listen!)  
> full lyric: "some believe in destiny, and some believe in fate. but i believe that happiness is something we create."
> 
> two rules:
> 
> 1) leave your expectations at the door for your best reading experience  
> 2) please don't kill my creativity by rushing me (it never ends well for either of us)
> 
> okie dokes, now that we got that out of the way...
> 
> I look forward to experiencing this journey with all of you! Enjoy your read :)

intro.

She once believed the price of her magic, of being the savior, was that she never had any time for herself. Saviors don’t get breaks when there’s saving to be done, right? Who’s going to bring everyone their happy endings if she’s too busy enjoying the simple moments in life to be at everyone’s beck and call? It made perfect sense to her back when she first accepted her role as the savior and all that it would mean for her life. 

_God_ does she wish she could go back to the time she believed that to be true. Because now that she doesn’t _want_ any time to herself, now that she wants to be busy, wants anything—anything—to need her attention, there’s nothing. Nothing. No portals opening in the middle of downtown, no happily ever afters to secure, not a damned thing. Not even Pongo needs her to chase him around Storybrooke when Archie lets the dog have a little freedom and then can’t find him. She’s never felt more insignificant in her life.

She’s a savior without a cause. 

She’s a sheriff without a purpose.

She’s a mother without a child to look after.

She’s a wife—no. She’s not even that anymore.

She’s a single woman with a life that absolutely bores her, and she has had enough of it. 

Emma once believed the price of her magic, of being the savior, was that she didn’t get moments, that she didn’t get to live the boring, monotonous life with routines that she secretly craved. This belief now debunked, she wonders if maybe the curse of her magic is never _truly_ being satisfied. Because when has Emma ever felt completely content? When has she ever really felt like she had everything she could ask for? Every time she thought she had what she wanted, she soon felt like there was a missing piece. That is not to say that she hasn’t felt loved and supported since she found the family she ached for most of her life. Because she most certainly does feel that way. But not even that stops her from feeling as though there has to be something more out there for her.

She needs more. More is a simple four-letter word being used to describe a growing desire far from being simple, but it is accurate and all that she knows when that which she seeks is murky and unimaginable. Emma knows something is missing that will bring her fulfillment. She knows the elusive more exists. The only problem she continues to face is that she hasn’t a clue where or how to find it. But the journey of discovery that will hopefully reveal what has been hidden is one she is ready for, no matter where it takes her.

i.

How unfortunate for the grousing sheriff rolling out of bed that her body heat clings to her bedding instead of her body when she must leave its comfort. This is what she gets for answering her phone! Something told her to ignore it, to shut off the annoying ringing and bury her head under a pillow until it was quiet once more inside her bedroom. But Emma is on call all the time, all 24 hours of the 7 days of the week, so she can’t ignore what could be an emergency. That would be irresponsible of her. And despite what many have said about Emma, she isn’t _that_ irresponsible. She takes her job as the sheriff rather seriously—even when she gets calls before dawn about broken traffic lights that will have very little effect on a sleeping town.

“Why is this my life?” she moans not for the first or last time, forcing herself to stand and stretch. Opening her eyes is torture. Taking her first step away from the bed feels like punishment when she’s done nothing wrong. She just wants to sleep, dammit. 

She should send out one of her deputies for this, but she’s already awake and there’s no reason to force someone else away from their bed at this hour. At least _she’s_ being considerate and not waking anyone up in what is technically, if you ask Emma at least, still the middle of the night. 

A few slaps to her cheeks and a loud groan just to let the room know she is _not_ happy about any of this, and then she gets going. Her movements are sluggish. She washes her face with moisturizer and spits out a mouthful of sunblock the moment the taste of it hits her tongue and she realizes the mistake of her sleep-soaked brain. It takes her a few more tries to get her shit together. But once she does, she makes it through her morning routine on auto-pilot.

Despite it barely being after five in the morning, everything is going well and she feels more human than creature by the time she reaches the kitchen. She’s dressed and clean, and those are the only standards for impromptu traffic calls in her books. Badge to hip, phone in her pocket, sunglasses on the top of her head because she’s hopeful and thinking about the sunny day it will eventually become, she now requires only her keys and a travel mug of strong coffee. She exhales a weighty sigh as she goes to collect the latter. Coffee, the gods’ gift to humans, the singular substance that is going to make this early morning manageable: she needs it more than her lungs need oxygen.

But. 

But. 

“No, no, no, no, no!” 

Mocking Emma in her time of despair, the shopping list attached to her fridge with a laughing emoji-shaped magnet of all things reminds her she doesn’t have any coffee. The list contains exactly two items on it: Pop-Tarts and coffee. And, of course, Emma hasn’t bought either. If it wasn’t so early in the morning, she would—

Nope! It doesn’t matter what time it is, Emma needs to scream. She is beyond fed up with how frustrating this morning has already been. And because she must have pissed off whoever is in charge of her simulation or something like that, a similar unpleasantness has clouded Emma’s past year. She’s ready to start over, move forward...something! She’s so damn tired of it all.

“Why is this my life?” reverberates around the too-empty kitchen. “Why?” she questions in a near whine, all elongated and miserable, knocking her head against the cold, hard surface of the refrigerator multiple times. When she silently begged for something to shake up her routine, this wasn’t what she had in mind. Maybe next time she should be more specific when she desperately throws her wishes out into the universe. 

Is it pathetic that she misses Henry a little extra right now because he would have made sure they didn’t run out of the two most important food groups? Probably. Does Emma care? No, not at all. Henry was better with groceries than she has ever been, and now that Emma lives alone in her apartment and he is in an entirely different realm, it’s probably time for her to work on that. Or past time, really, but, whatever. Her less than stellar adulting isn’t the issue that requires attention right now, her lack of coffee is. 

Granny’s is closed. Her favorite donut shop is closed. Even the grocery store is closed. Because it is 5:14 in the morning, and _everything_ is closed. (Which is why Emma should be sleeping and not responding to the one annoying person who decided to be outside early enough to be aware of the flickering traffic light. She doesn’t know who they are, but she’s officially banning them from all the town’s future festivities.) 

Coffee-less, the way no soul should ever have to be when greeting the day before the sun has, Emma forces herself to stop groaning and to start moving. A broken stoplight and maybe one or two cars are depending on her! She guffaws as she snatches her keys from the kitchen table and lets herself out into the dimly lit hallway. She misses when people called with serious issues, the kind that required her to _do_ something, required skill. At least then being awake and out of the house meant she was being useful, doing something that mattered. Why did she ever complain about magical curses and realm hopping when this, going to check on a traffic light, is the alternative?

Emma doesn’t know why everyone believes the sheriff’s office is the place to call for every inconvenience they encounter. She is a sheriff, and a sheriff only. She is not in charge of traffic lights, she has no say in when the park opens and closes, and she isn’t the person to call when the cable doesn’t work. (And who even uses cable services anymore? Who? _Who?_ ) She’ll make the exception for this call because the Department of Transportation is smart, and trying to reach them outside of business hours is impossible. But she doubts the call would have gone to their phone line even if it was the middle of a weekday. The town thinks of Emma and her department as the all-encompassing government hotline even when the sheriff has to go through the same hoops everyone else does to get the problem fixed. And honestly, Emma finds it annoying. 

This isn’t an emergency, not of the magical nor mundane variety. She doesn’t know what anyone expects her to do about a broken traffic light other than wait for a crew to come out and fix it. Even _she_ knows the rules for driving when the lights are malfunctioning, and Emma learned how to drive from Neal. The majority of Storybrooke’s citizens have all the knowledge they could need for survival magically programmed into their brains and have known all of this for as long as she has been alive. They should know how to stop and make sure another car isn’t coming before going without her assistance. She doesn’t need to be out here to direct traffic when she could be sleeping. Not that there’s any traffic to direct... But still. 

Emma is nearly at her destination when she decides she is all grumbled out. There isn’t any escaping what is already happening, so, for the sake of her own sanity, Emma is just going to get it all over with. She’ll make sure nobody runs into anything, and she’ll wait for a decent time to call someone to fix the traffic signal. She’ll watch the sunrise and smile at joggers and dog walkers as they pass her. She’ll shout back, “You, too,” when someone calls out a friendly “Have a good morning.” And when she says it, she will glow as warm and sunnily as a summer sky. Hell, she’ll even throw in a few waves and head nods. But the moment it’s all taken care of, she’s getting herself the largest coffee she can find and going somewhere far, far away from the majority of the citizens of the town she is slowly starting to hate.

ii.

So much of the day has gone by that the diner is already cleaning what remains from the morning rush when Emma enters Granny’s. The bell announces her arrival and she is greeted by the soul-warming scent of coffee and maple syrup. She inhales greedily. For the first time since she was jarred awake by the violent screeching of her cellphone, a genuine smile stretches across her mouth and her entire body seems to melt into the booth she pours herself into. It is almost enough to make her forget how unpleasant her mood had previously been before hearing the tinkling bell above the opening door. 

From behind the counter that is being wiped down with a dry dish towel, Dorothy looks her over with a critical eye and goes, “Let me guess, you’ll be wanting a coffee.” Her rough laugh is the first Emma has heard this chaotic morning, and there’s something about the ease of it that Emma envies but appreciates all the same. “You dropped into that seat like you haven’t been off your feet since we drove past you on our way in.” 

“How perceptive of you to notice.” Only in a town of spoiled fairy tale characters does a simple broken traffic light turn into a handful of hours’ worth of work (read: babysitting grown men). “Can that coffee come in an IV bag by any chance? I haven’t had a single swallow all day. I don’t know how I haven’t completely faded away already.” 

From somewhere in the back, Ruby shouts, “Ooh! Is that Emma I hear?” 

“Not for long. Apparently, our friend here is fading and we’re about to be short one for game night. We should probably start looking for a replacement. Maybe it’s time we let Toto play. Their Pictionary skill levels aren’t too far apart.” 

“Ha ha. Someone thinks they’re funny,” Emma comments dryly, but Dorothy isn’t giving even an ounce of her attention to Emma.

Dorothy gets all soft for a moment as she turns toward the sound of her wife’s voice. Emma loves her friends just enough to find it only mildly disgusting. Dorothy is usually more stoic and the one who keeps the puppy-dog eyes to a minimum at work, but sometimes she fails miserably. (Outside of business hours, no attempts are even made when Emma spends time with the couple.) Emma can tell Ruby’s joining them in the front of the diner just from the brightening of Dorothy’s smile, and eyes, and, well, her everything. Dorothy becomes golden as Ruby slides up next to her and squeezes the wild-haired brunette from the side. She tucks wisps of hair behind an ear and mumbles something into Dorothy’s neck before turning to get Emma her coffee. 

Emma silently watches them, waiting, comfortable in her silence to feel no pressure to do more. 

In all honesty, Emma finds herself doing more than her fair share of that these days: watching and waiting. She’s unsure when her life became so anticlimactic and boring, but her early morning call is the most excitement she’s had all week—and _that_ was a waste of her time, energy, and not even actual excitement. 

But the weird thing is, nobody else around her struggles to find a sense of fulfillment since the constant curses and fighting became a thing of the past, not the way Emma does. She watches everyone else happily move on with their lives and thrive. New shops have opened. The nightlife scene in Storybrooke now consists of more than two bars. Families are growing. People are dreaming big and making those dreams come true. But Emma doesn’t share their joy, doesn’t find comfort in the quiet of their town. Emma _misses_ being swept away and fighting battles with her family. Emma misses feeling like she’s needed. There was a time she wanted nothing more than a small-town life like this, but now that she has it, there’s a gaping hole inside her that is waiting to be filled. Exactly what it is that would fill said hole remains a mystery. 

“If I didn’t know you better, I would be offended,” Ruby says as she walks over a large cup and paper bag that Emma knows holds her usual Saturday order of two bear claws. She places them down in front of Emma and slides in without waiting for an invitation. She smiles sadly. Emma can feel the concern vibrating off her. “Your frown lines are deeper with every visit. But I know it’s not me because—” she pushes the bear claws closer with the tips of her fingers; painted red on the left, black on the right, “—I take care of you and make your favorite even though we don’t sell those anymore.”

“Mm.” A hum of acknowledgment is all she can give. It’s all there is time for when there is finally _coffee!_

It doesn’t matter that the coffee is steaming when she pulls off the top, creamy dark liquid dangerously close to spilling over the rim with how hurried her movements are. If she burns herself, she won’t blame the coffee. Coffee can do no harm when it smells this good, when the heat of it warms through the cup and makes her skin feel like she’s wearing the warmest gloves and it’s winter instead of late summer. Coffee is liquid love and pleasure and safety poured into a cup, and Emma just wants to be one with the coffee. The moment before her first taste is _that_ serious. 

She barely blows it properly before she brings her mouth to the paper cup and takes in a small sip. It’s hot—obviously—but she lets the burn from the first sip prepare her mouth for the longer drink. _Oh my god,_ she thinks with a not-so-quiet hum of delight. Eyelashes flutter as her eyelids shut. Delicious heat fills her mouth, swims over her tongue, licks at her cheeks, and then slides down her throat to spread throughout the whole of her physical body and soul alike. She drinks again, again, again, and maybe life isn’t so awful after all.

“Oh,” she whispers with satisfaction under her breath, opening her eyes to see that both Ruby and Dorothy are watching her with barely-hidden amusement. She doesn’t feel any embarrassment for her enjoyment, though. If coffee wasn’t meant to be savored with such reverence, it wouldn’t be so good. 

“Should I...?” Ruby throws her thumb over her shoulder while laughing. “Need some time alone with that?”

Whatever was keeping Dorothy from laughing completely dissipates at this point. She joins in and Emma flips them both off. 

“You guys have no idea how badly I needed that.” It’s not just this long morning that has Emma feeling drained. It’s life. Every day she wakes up exhausted, and every day she wonders why her limbs feel so heavy and overworked when she hasn’t been doing anything extra strenuous outside of her normal workouts. She shouldn’t feel this tired. “I’ve been running on empty, and today really wasn’t the day for it.”

“You do look more tired than usual,” Dorothy points out like an agreement after a quick assessment from the counter she’s leaning over. 

Maybe she also notices how Emma’s eyes have started to look empty and heavy again. Emma knows her makeup is doing very little to cover up her fatigue. And there isn’t anything she can do about their hollow appearance. She hasn’t looked this dead in the eyes since Killian was around, and he’s been gone for more than half a year now. Emma refuses to sink back down to where she was those days.

“You know, my Auntie Em would always say there ain’t no ailment a good bowl of soup can’t fix. Want me to cook you up a batch?”

Emma shakes her head, warmed by the offer but not quite in the mood for hanging out much longer. She’s already thinking about getting out of the diner and going to sit alone by the pond. She’s been anticipating that time to herself all morning. “Maybe some other time, but thanks.” 

“Come on, Emma. You can’t live off sugar and coffee forever,” Ruby lectures. Emma doesn’t know when Ruby became the voice of reason in her group of friends, probably only second to Regina—but Regina is on a different level, heck, a different game entirely, so it’s unfair to compare the two. “Don’t be stubborn and proud. Let us help.”

Emma really does appreciate how much everyone cares about her. She hasn’t forgotten what it was like to have nobody before Henry brought her to Storybrooke. The thought-to-be orphan finding her parents, gaining a family of blood relatives and chosen loved ones, isn’t something Emma will ever stop being grateful for. And the continued support she receives, the way they all continue to be there for her despite the many times she has pushed them away throughout the years, means more to her than she will ever be able to verbally communicate. 

She doesn’t want Ruby to think that’s what she’s doing now. She just... Emma sighs and reaches across the table to give one of Ruby’s slender hands an assuring squeeze. She wants the sincerity of her words to be felt. “If I need anything you can help with, I know I can come to you. I know you’ve got my back and want what’s best for me.”

“That doesn’t mean you will. I’m worried about you—we’re _all_ worried about you.”

“Wolfie,” Dorothy says gently, and Ruby huffs out a breath that makes her sag into her seat. Emma looks between the two of them as they do that creepy wives thing where they silently have a full conversation she isn’t part of and doesn’t understand. 

Ruby appears to give up and changes direction, turning to Emma with pleading eyes. “At least go talk to Snow. If we can’t help, then I think it’s time.”

Emma’s brow furrows. Time? And what does Snow have to do with any of this? Emma is confused, which she is sure is clear in her voice when she tilts her head slightly and questions, “My mother? Why? What do you mean it’s time?”

But Ruby offers no clarity. She shakes her head and slides out of her seat to return to the back of the diner. “Just go. She’ll know why you’re there,” Ruby tells Emma seriously, and it’s cryptic enough to make Emma squirm and put off her trip to the pond. 

iii. 

When Emma’s parents first told her they were moving farther from the city center to settle and have room to expand, she wasn’t sure how to feel about it. It was around the same time her little brother was starting to crawl and David and Snow were talking about getting a dog. Even at thirty-one, she couldn’t help but feel a little left out. It was like they were leaving her behind to focus on growing their real family. But Storybrooke isn’t so big that it should have felt like they were abandoning her. Knowing this did nothing to prevent old wounds from ripping wide open. The voices of doubt and insecurity still questioned her importance, still made her wonder if she would soon no longer have a place in their lives.

Driving to her parents’ house today, nearly six years later, she no longer feels any of that dark heaviness. The wind blows through the opened windows and the calming smell of grass and sweet flowers sweeps away the annoyance the sheriff carried from her early morning. It isn’t the trip to the park she had been anticipating, but the ride still gives her time to herself. It’s nice.

Ever since the first time she got behind the wheel as a teenager, Emma has loved driving. She would often imagine just getting in the car and traveling to a new place whenever she wanted. She liked how driving made her feel freer. The drive isn’t long enough for her to feel free from the town, but it’s enough to make her feel lighter. In this way, the farmhouse has become somewhat of an escape for Emma. It gives her a destination and time to herself when she needs space. 

Emma loves visiting her parents’ house now, but it took a notable amount of time for Emma to get over how unsettled it made her back in the beginning when David first showed it to her. It took even longer for her to work through _why_ she was bothered so drastically in the first place. 

It made sense for them to want a house after being cramped inside the apartment for so long, to want a yard where Neal could play and a dog could run free. It made sense for them to want to put down roots and finally have something stable after everything. 

Emma had married and settled down herself, so why seeing her parents do the same evoked such a negative response within her was the big question she had to ask herself. Deep down, she knew she was always welcomed. Emma knew they would still see each other most days. Snow loved having the family come together, loved big family dinners, wouldn’t allow a move to mean they gathered any less than they were accustomed to. Emma knew nothing major would be changing. Her emotions felt irrational at first because she _knew_ her parents finding a house was a good thing. Besides, she was happy for them once she looked past old pain. She didn’t understand why any of it caused her turmoil. 

That is until it was so obvious she couldn’t avoid it. 

Her abandonment issues played a part, yes; there is a part of Emma that will always yearn and mourn for the unlived dreamlife of her childhood, the one she ached and ached for growing up. But it took a long time for Emma to realize she wasn’t mad at her parents. She wasn’t angry because they wanted to move away. She wasn’t even jealous of the brother who would get to grow up with loving parents always there for him. All of those emotions would have been easy to work through because they were familiar, uncomfortable but nothing new for Emma. 

Digging deep deep deep down to the roots of it all, she found disappointment, jealousy, and so much emptiness that she immediately buried away all that she uncovered and pretended everything was okay. She was good at playing pretend. Pretending and playing a role had always been easy for Emma. Playing the role of the happy wife despite the emptiness she wanted to hide from everyone—including herself—was no different.

But one day, Emma wanted to stop pretending. One day, it became too much for her and all that she had buried clawed free from its cage and she could not put it back. 

The jealousy was most profound. Watching her parents settle with Neal had hit Emma so harshly because of how happy they were about their plans, how genuinely excited they were for their next chapter together. There weren’t any reasons to pretend, no forcing smiles, no going along with the plan simply because it made sense. They weren’t hoping getting a house together and growing the family would fix them; they were already so in love it was disgusting. Emma was still hoping things would get better with Killian back then, was still smiling on the outside and feeling dread on the inside. She wanted what her parents had, what Ruby and Dorothy had, what every other couple seemed to have that she couldn’t find with the person she had committed herself to make happy. 

The disappointment in herself made her hate looking at her reflection. She felt like such a liar. She _was_ a liar. Even now as she looks back at her marriage, Emma is still disappointed in herself for how long she forced herself to keep trying to make something work that was so obviously broken. She no longer blames only herself, but she still wishes she had done things differently. Maybe one less argument should have been swept under the rug. Maybe one less outburst should have been accepted as the result of “just a bad day.” Emma and Killian were bad for each other, but Emma hadn’t wanted to let go even when it was obvious she should have. 

The emptiness. Well, Emma thinks the emptiness is the reason she finally left—and maybe it’s the reason Killian didn’t try to stop her. In the end, Emma thinks they both wanted more than what the other was giving them. 

Emma still wants more. But now it’s from life and herself. 

iv.

She can hear the cheery brightness of Neal calling her name from the backyard before she has even parked in the driveway. His welcome comes like an instant hit of serotonin. It gets her smiling from ear to ear as she meets him somewhere in the middle between her car and the trampoline he was jumping on. He collides with her legs when he hugs her, and Emma oofs through her grin. 

“Good to see you, too, monkey.” He’s already halfway climbing her like she’s a tree, so she gathers him in her arms so he can swing around to her back. He may be quickly approaching the far end of six, but Neal insists he’s never going to be too big for piggyback rides. Emma has decided not to burst that bubble and will continue giving him all the rides he wants until she can no longer bear his weight. 

“Miss Ella is giving face-paintings today,” Neal shares happily as he settles on her back, arms wrapped around Emma’s strong shoulders. “Mommy said I could get whatever I wanna, and I said I want a dragon like the ones from Henry’s book. She thought I would think it’s too scary, but I’m not scared of a silly dragon.” She doesn’t need to see his face to know he’s giving her the same _don’t be ridiculous_ look she would give. Sometimes the fact that they are siblings is undeniable and obvious despite the three decades that separate them. “I’m a big boy now.”

“Yeah you are,” she enthuses. 

“Also, also Lily is a dragon. And Lily is my friend. So dragons aren’t scary. But, but, but! But if they were, I could beat up _all_ of the dragons. _Pew pew pew._ Just like you, Emma. They wouldn’t even see what hit ‘em.” 

Emma chuckles at his excitement. The backyard, as it often is, is full of children running around and playing on the various fun things that have either been bought or made for one of Storybrooke’s most lovable little princes. Emma sees the swings are empty and quickly makes her decision to head that way, hefting him higher on her back to make sure he’s secure before running. She’s always been a sucker for a swingset. She wouldn’t be surprised if she has spent more time leaving her mark in the ground underneath with her boots than any of the children that come over to play.

“Yippee!” Neal squeals with his fist in the air, and when Emma doesn’t follow up with her own, he does it again. “Yippee! Emma, yippee with me.” 

And because his adorableness is her weakness, and he has made her day so much better after only a few minutes, Emma joins for the next yippee. It’s loud and free, and they giggle together while claiming their own swing. The bond they have came to her much later in life than she expected, but moments like this are precisely what Little Emma had wanted with a brother or sister. She cherishes their time together, so much so that she forgets seeing her little brother wasn’t the purpose of her visit. 

Until he eventually gets tired of swinging and wants to rejoin his friends, Emma decides she will continue listening to his chatter whilst soaking up the rays of the sun. 

Summer is coming to an end, but everyone has been milking the season for all that it has left to offer. Not a drop of sunshine goes to waste when winter can be harsh and much too cold. So it isn’t the least bit shocking that so many people are over at the house today. Her parents’ house is often full of people, honestly. Emma is quite used to it. While David grew up surrounded by animals, most of Snow’s life she has been surrounded by people. Even when she was on the run back in the Enchanted Forest, she had the dwarves and Ruby. She loves a crowd, and they’ve made a home out here that feels welcoming to everyone.

Swinging with her head flung back, she can spot several familiar mothers in groups all over, laughing and gossiping while keeping an eye on this kid and that one. She never felt like she could connect with them all that well, decided many years ago that Snow’s friends didn’t have to be her friends as well. They’re all around her age or a little younger, and Emma’s a mom as well, but it’s _weird_ being friends with your mom’s friends—even when you and your mom are the same age and were friends before mom and daughter. And Emma has enough weirdness in her life as it is. She’ll make sure to say hello to everyone before she leaves later, but she doesn’t plan on lingering too long. 

Neal gets pulled away from the swings by a little girl who is missing a front tooth and calls her Miss Emma. She watches them run off with a fond smile, happy that Neal has so many friends, so many people that care about him. It is while she is following them with her eyes that she feels someone’s hand on her shoulder, giving it a strong, long squeeze that she automatically recognizes as David’s silent greeting. 

“Hey.” She has to squint when she looks up and over her shoulder, even with her sunglasses pulled down from her hair. “Where’s Snow? I haven’t seen her around.” 

David thankfully steps over the seat of the swing and sits down so Emma doesn’t have to strain her neck. “Getting more oranges, last I checked. Everything okay?” 

Emma nods. Okay is a simple enough word. She can say that she’s okay without feeling like she’s lying. But the side-eye he gives her lets her know that, even if he won’t push right now, he’s not buying that she’s doing all right. He spends enough time with her at work to know that she hasn’t been doing her best lately, so Emma’s not surprised by the look. 

She huffs softly and swings over to the right, knocking their swings together and making him smile at her. Emma prefers a smiling David. 

“Ruby wants me to talk to Mom. She says they’re worried about me. Do you know anything about that?”

Emma and David have always communicated differently than Emma and Snow. It’s easier with him. It’s more direct and usually lighter. Too often, emotions feel uncomfortably heavy with Snow. Emma appreciates them both for different reasons, different discussions, sometimes needs a talk with her mom that she knows just wouldn’t be as helpful if she were having it with David. And sometimes she needs her dad’s advice and wouldn’t even think about going to Snow with whatever she needs help with. On rare occasions, she needs both. 

Emma still isn’t sure who she needs to be talking to right now—and that’s mostly because she’s not sure _what_ she needs to talk about. 

David scratches the side of his face as he thinks, looking toward the large kitchen window where Snow is probably at. Emma listens to the children yelling and laughing until David’s swing starts moving just enough for a slight creaking sound to slip into the mix of outside noises she’s soothed by. As loud as it all is, the sound of summer at her parents’ place, there is still something comforting about it. It kinda really sucks that it’ll all be over in a couple of weeks and the kids will be heading back to school. 

“I think this is one your mother wants to be in the driver’s seat for. Why don’t you pop in the kitchen and see if she needs some help with the oranges?”

Emma frowns at him. “So you do know what’s going on then,” she accuses with a groan. “I’m always the last to know everything—even when it’s about me. No, especially when it’s about me. You know how much I hate that.” 

Her dad holds his hands up defensively, an apology in his eyes that makes it hard to be properly upset with him. “I just happened to walk into the room during the middle of the conversation. It sounded like you came up while they were discussing something else, if that’ll make it any better for you.” 

“It doesn’t, but thanks.” David is the one to knock their swings together this time, and Emma lets out a sigh and gives him a smile. “I don’t like all this hush-hush nonsense. First Ruby wouldn’t tell me, now you.” 

“Go on and find Snow. It’s nothing bad, but I do know she’s been wanting to sit down with you. I wouldn’t want to ignore that.” 

Emma kicks off from the ground and swings a few more times before she heads inside. Finding her mother is easy. She’s exactly where David said she would be: in the kitchen, peeling oranges and arranging the wedges in flower patterns that the kids will likely pay very little attention to when they go to take their share. 

The kitchen is open and the most farmhouse part of their house, from the wood beams running across the ceiling to the huge island covered in food that Emma has had many breakfasts and lunches at over the years. The kitchen is cozy, warm, and smells delicious. Emma briefly wonders which of the mothers have been cooking in it, or if David had been making something before he joined the kids in the yard, because Snow is many, many things, but a good cook is not one of them. She is _much_ better as simply a host. Regina loves to remind her of this whenever the opportunity presents itself. 

Emma crosses over to the deep sink to give her hands a scrub as she asks in lieu of a proper greeting: “Need some help?” 

“Emma! What a lovely surprise. I didn’t know you were coming over today.”

Neal calling her name from across the yard has Snow beat in the Excited to See Emma competition, but only just so. Emma wants to be annoyed with her because they’ve known each other for nine years now and Snow should know how much Emma loathes people talking about her when she’s not there. She should know how uncomfortable it makes her when everyone knows what’s going on except for Emma. But, just like with David and his apologetic eyes, Snow beaming with pure joy at the sight of Emma makes being upset impossible. She does _not_ appreciate how loveable her family is right now. 

Oddly, the soap smells more citrusy than the actual citrus fruit when Emma brings her hand up to her nose to smell it after turning off the running water. She likes it, makes a mental note to pick up some for her kitchen when she finally gets around to buying groceries and necessities. 

Snow hands over an unpeeled orange and Emma gets to work, puncturing the rind with her thumbnail and starting a careful spiral. She always gives up halfway through when the peel inevitably breaks, but she always starts this way. It’s more out of habit now, but she used to try so very hard when she was a kid to make the perfect spirals. 

“I saw Ruby earlier. She—and Dad—seem to think you want to talk to me about something important. What’s going on?” Emma hopes her blunt, straight to the point question will mean Snow will follow her lead. Emma’s riding a small high from the burst of energy spending time with Neal gave her. She doesn’t want a draining emotional conversation that’s going to bring her back down. 

“Oh.” Snow seems genuinely surprised, but she’s still smiling as she turns orange segments into flower petals on the serving plate. “I prepared this conversation differently in my head. I didn’t expect you would come to me.” She laughs a little, brings an orange slice up to bite it, pauses, looks at it thoughtfully, and then puts it in her mouth and chews as she nods like she’s answering a question. Whose question? Emma doesn’t know. Not hers, though, because Emma’s still unsure what Snow wants to talk to her about. “I guess I should have been better prepared.”

Emma’s spiral breaks. Snow picks up the rind and adds it to the bowl where the rest of the sad, unwanted orange peels are. It’s too quiet in the kitchen. Emma is starting to feel twitchy, and soon her orange is peeled and she has nothing to do with her hands.

“Umm...” 

“Right. Give me a minute to take this outside for the kids, and then we can talk. Why don’t you grab something to eat and wait for me at the table?” 

Emma huffs because she can already feel this about to drag on for longer than she wants it to. Why couldn’t David just tell her whatever it is? They would have wrapped up the conversation already and Emma could be on her way home by now, not picking through casserole dishes to find the good stuff among the weird kitchen disasters some people have decided to bring over. And when Emma says weird, she means weird weird. Like, why are there raisins in everything? Seriously. 

After making sure she is still alone in the kitchen, she snaps a quick picture of the spread. Along with the photo of the raisin-infested food, she sends Regina a text. _Take a drink every time you spot raisins where they don’t belong._ Imagining the way Regina’s face will twist in disgust makes Emma laugh to herself. She shoves the phone away just as quickly as she pulled it out. 

It’s disappointing to find out the food isn’t as good as the yummy smell in the kitchen suggests because she actually is hungry. She wishes she had accepted Dorothy’s offer of soup. There’s no way she is going to torture her tastebuds with any of the dishes that look like they were made by people who watched one too many episodes of _Chopped_ and decided they, too, could make great dishes with random food items. Emma respects and loves food too much for that.

Honestly, the only thing she trusts is the fruit, so she makes herself a fruit salad (without raisins) and goes to wait for Snow. 

It doesn’t take long for her mother to return. Emma pushes the bowl over as an invitation to share, and Snow smiles before taking a grape and sitting down cross-legged just like Emma is. Both of their shoes have been left behind. Emma opens her mouth to tell Snow she doesn’t want whatever it is they’re about to talk about to drag on for a long conversation, but for once, surprisingly, Snow gets right to the point. 

“Ruby has seen you driving to the town line more frequently the last few months and brought it to my attention.” Her tone is so neutral that Emma can’t tell what, if anything, Snow thinks about this. It’s a plain fact, said with no more importance than one would display when sharing the weather. 

But Emma’s stomach drops because _she_ certainly has feelings about her visits to the town line. She wouldn’t have driven that way if she knew she had a sneaky wolf watching her and reporting back to her mother, that’s for sure. “Oh. I—” 

“There haven’t been any safety reasons for you to check the perimeter that I know of...” 

Emma shakes her head in the negative when Snow leaves her statement open. But Emma is certain her mother already knows that Emma driving to the town line has nothing to do with safety precautions. Of course there haven’t been any safety reasons to explain why she has been driving to the edge of Storybrooke. Because if there had been, Snow would have been informed by her daughter sheriff, her husband deputy, or the mayor she sees daily outside of business hours. She’s Snow White. If there were an emergency, or even a small hiccup, she would have known all the details.

Emma’s line of vision lowers so she doesn’t have to look at Snow’s patient face as she speaks. “I didn’t think anyone would notice.” 

“You leaving Storybrooke? Of course we would notice. How could you think—” 

“Wait.” Emma’s head pops back up. “What? I’m not leaving Storybrooke. What are you talking about?” 

Snow’s confusion would be funny if Emma wasn’t just as confused. “You’re not? Ruby said—” 

“That I’ve been going to the town line a lot, which, yeah, I have. But... Did Ruby think I was going to leave Storybrooke, too? Is that why she was being all weird earlier and said it was time for me to talk to you? Are you supposed to be convincing me to stay?” 

Her mother unfolds her legs and scoots forward to the edge of her seat. She leans closer to Emma, almost like there isn’t a table between the two of them. Her face is still squished. Snow makes thinking look painful when she’s not following, when she’s missing something important, when she doesn’t have all the key components. Her head tilts to the left, eyebrows bunched; her frown lines are slowly becoming more prominent as they age, attempting to become permanent residents on Snow’s face. 

“I was so sure I had figured everything out.” Snow’s confusion turns into a disappointed frown. But her mental gears are turning, probably overworking themselves. After all, Snow wants to fix everything, and the moment she feels like there is something she can do to help, she needs to come up with a plan. Emma finds this helpful in times of crisis, annoying when she’s what Snow wants to fix. “Emma, why _are_ you going to the town line so often? If it’s not because you’ve been thinking about leaving, then what’s going on?” 

How had Ruby spotted her but not known what Emma was there for? Or had Ruby only given Snow the bare minimum for the sake of Emma’s privacy? Not that she ever has much of that in this town—especially with Snow. But it has to be the latter. Ruby, who has the best hearing in all of Storybrooke, would have definitely heard Emma out there if she saw her during one of Emma's late-night visits. 

“Emma?” Her mother taps a hand atop the wood table to regain Emma’s attention. 

It makes her jump slightly, completely unaware she had let her thoughts steal her away from the present moment. “Well now I wish I was planning on leaving town instead.” An uncomfortable heat spreads across the back of her neck and shoulders. She clears her throat and has to literally shake away embarrassment. “That would have been less awkward—and you are taking that surprisingly well. Which is a little strange, by the way. I would think you of all people would be the first to disapprove.” 

“Honey, no. Maybe at first I was a little shocked—and hurt, if I’m being honest. But I know you wouldn’t leave permanently if you were to go somewhere.” Snow sits back in her chair finally, relaxed, and this helps Emma feel more at ease as well. “Do you remember when you moved in with me before the first curse broke? You had so little. It was like you were afraid to hold onto things because you felt like you had to always be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice.” 

“That’s not too far off from the reality of my life before I came here,” Emma admits. There’s more to it, so much more, but back then she still lived with that mindset. Holding on, collecting, anything that made quickly gathering her belongings to go to the next place was just something Emma hadn’t done. She had her necessities, and she had a few mementoes. That was it. 

“Which is awful, truly. But now look at you.” She grabs Emma’s hand and squeezes, shaking it a bit. She looks so proud of Emma. “Look at all the people you’ve connected to, and all the roots you’ve put down. You made this place your home, Emma. The woman across from me right now isn’t the same one who was ready to pack up and run away in the middle of the night without saying a word to anybody.”

“But you thought I wanted to leave.” 

Snow looks at Emma, and the emotion that melts her features into something impossibly soft makes Emma feel like she’s being hugged even though her mother isn’t touching her anymore. “There is a difference between running away and wanting some time for yourself. And I never, not even for a moment, thought you wanted to run. I just thought—we thought, I don’t know, that maybe you were thinking about it. Not running, but leaving. And I wanted to make sure you knew that that was okay.” 

“That’s not why I go there, but...” She bites her cheek, unsure how exactly to explain that even if she hadn’t been thinking about going anywhere, it means something to her that Snow wouldn’t have been upset by the idea. Emma pulls the fruit toward herself and picks through the chunks of melons to find a strawberry slice. She’s absently smashing it with her fingers and letting the juice drip back into the bowl as she takes a few deep breaths and then looks back up at Snow. “Screaming.” When her mother’s brow wrinkles, Emma elaborates. “That’s what I go there for, really loud, primal, raw screaming. Sometimes until my throat is sore,” she admits. “When I’m feeling frustrated, or antsy, or... Really, sometimes I just need to feel something. Screaming helps. ”

There’s a moment where it feels like she might have said too much, revealed too much. And Emma can feel her heart beating faster than normal. But then Snow breathes out a slow, “Oh,” and Emma relaxes. Her mother looks at her thoughtfully for a moment, quiet. And then she chuckles a little. “I go deep into the woods and shoot arrows,” she whispers conspiratorially. “But maybe I should give screaming a try one day.” 

Lightly, Emma shrugs. “Maybe.” The warmth that bubbles in her chest feels familiar, and Emma is still a little surprised every now and then by how _good_ it can feel to talk to her mother—even when it’s drawn out longer than necessary sometimes. She releases a settling breath and basks in the rejuvenating energy that is so different from the staleness that is her normal. 

They continue to talk for a little while longer. It’s mostly catching up. Snow tells her about what she needs to get done before the school year begins next month, and Emma tells Snow about how she’s been thinking about painting her bedroom. Snow, of course, has suggestions and tips and adds that Emma should probably give the entire apartment a little more love. Emma somehow agrees to Snow tagging along when she goes to pick out paint. 

Snow doesn’t ask what has Emma so frustrated, but Emma tells her anyway. Once she starts talking, it’s surprisingly easy to keep going until all the things she usually keeps to herself are out there and can’t be pushed back into a neat little box that Emma can hide. There’s the feeling of wanting more that keeps coming up, the way she feels stuck but doesn’t know what would help. There’s the boredom, and how much Emma misses doing things that actually make her feel like she is living her life instead of robotically moving through it. And Snow listens to all of it without cutting Emma’s long ramble of words off. 

In fact, it’s David who interrupts their conversation when he comes into the house to find them. Much to Emma’s surprise, it’s much quieter than she remembers it being when she arrived. She pulls her phone from her pocket and can’t believe that nearly two hours have gone by. 

“Did you...?” He gestures toward Emma with a nod of his head, brow lifting as he questions Snow. 

Emma is scrolling through her missed notifications, but she catches her mother’s small nod. She misses what she says, however, because there are a few texts from Regina that she eagerly opens and gives her full attention to. 

The first: _Who is torturing you?_

The second: _If you’re that desperate for a home-cooked meal, you should have told me._

The final: _Dinner at 7? No raisins._

Emma laughs out loud because, yes, exactly, torture! Regina gets it. 

She’s about to accept the dinner invitation when something David says makes her tune back into the conversation that’s happening in front of her. 

“...show her another time,” her mother is whispering carefully. 

Emma arches her eyebrow, curious, looking between her parents. “You know I can hear you guys, right?” she reminds them even though she actually has no clue what they’re talking about. But they don’t need to know that. 

The way both of her parents blanch and look back and forth between her and each other smells of guilt. 

Emma sighs; she should have known her happy bubble would have to burst eventually. “What did you do?” 

“Nothing,” Snow says far too quickly for it to be truthful. Besides, her cheeks darken from their usual fair coloring when she’s lying, an easy tell. 

David rubs at the back of his neck, looking between wife and daughter like he isn’t sure which of them he should be worried about upsetting more. Emma leans back in her seat and folds her arms, her look serious, telling him he better not lie to her. He huffs and turns to Snow once more before answering. “Well, before we knew you weren’t planning on leaving, we thought it would be nice to do something for you we missed out on when you were a teenager. But your mother made it clear that was just a misunderstanding, so—” 

“David.” Snow shakes her head slightly, and Emma can tell she’s a little worried. 

Emma feels unsettled, but she’s mostly just curious. “I’m going to find out eventually. Just tell me.” 

Snow’s shoulders droop, but she stands and waves her hand toward the kitchen door. “We should probably go ahead and show you instead.” 

Emma follows them outside, not even bothering with getting her shoes back on her feet. Grass and dirt warmed by the sun beneath her is one of those little joys she takes pleasure in during the summer, anyway. If not for the situation at hand, she would probably find herself a cozy spot and chill for a while. But her curiosity has been piqued—and, okay, she might be just a little worried about what her parents have done. But can anyone blame her? Snow and David have been known to make some questionable decisions. Her hesitance as she lets them lead her to the barn-turned-workshop is warranted. 

They whisper just quietly enough for Emma to miss most of what is being said, the pair of them walking slightly ahead of her. But Emma can tell from their body language that Snow is cautioning David. David’s hand on Snow’s back, gently rubbing, paired with the way he looks hopeful despite her mother’s uncertainty, shows that whatever they’re talking about isn’t necessarily bad. Emma trusts David’s hopefulness, honestly. He’s always been a good judge of what pisses Emma off. 

So when he reaches for the door, Emma’s hesitance fades beneath a sudden rush of nervous excitement that zips through. She might not let it show, but butterflies flap away in her belly and she has to shove her hands deep down into her pockets to keep up her _you’re on thin ice_ appearance—only to keep her parents on their toes, just in case.

“Now,” David starts in warning as the barn door slowly starts sliding open, “you have to remember we thought you wanted to take a trip when we picked this out. It’s still yours, but—” 

“Out of context, it’s an unusual gift,” Snow says, and she’s laughing now. 

The vowels of Emma’s “Okay,” stretch out, much like the moment does as the door is moved far too slowly and the anticipation builds. Now she knows how everyone feels when she carefully unwraps presents instead of clawing the wrapping paper off. She doesn’t like it. She’s given too much time to think about possible gifts they could give her for a trip. 

Did they buy her something? Has David built something for her? He’s been spending a lot of time with August the last few years, so Emma’s leaning toward that idea. But what? He made the coffee table that’s now in her apartment, but Emma doesn’t know what they might believe to be good for a road trip. 

Or did they think she might have grown to enjoy boats more since her marriage?

What if she has to pretend to like a kayak or something? Or a sailboat? Or a— 

All thoughts of boats and handmade gifts come to a stop once the door is finally pulled aside enough to reveal what hides behind, and... 

Emma looks past her parents and their expectant eyes and steps forward, once, twice, confused as she asks: “Um, you guys, why is there a delivery van in your barn?” 

Emma looks all around in case she’s missing something. But the workbenches only hold tools and wood, nothing that would make sense as a gift unless they thought she needed to bring a saw with her on the road. The bikes along the other wall are the same bikes that have always been stored in the barn. There isn’t anything new except for the medium-sized van-shaped elephant in the room. 

And Emma doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do with what definitely looks like a stolen delivery van. 

“You don’t like it,” Snow guesses with an audible frown. 

“I mean...” Emma now wishes she had put on shoes because walking into the barn without any is kind of a dumb idea. But she goes anyway, taking careful steps as she eyes the van. She must look ridiculous, like she’s waiting for it to explode or something. “I don’t _not_ like it.” But what is there to like? It’s a white van with faded wording on the side of it, and Emma doesn’t know what she’s meant to do with a delivery van. Surely they don't think she would have that much crap to bring with her that she would need a whole van for it. “Um... Why do I feel like I’m missing something?” 

She turns back to look at them, and David appears to be the first to figure out she’s obviously not seeing the bigger picture. He’s quickly moving and opening the side door for her, eager to show her the inside—not that Emma understands that either since it’s just a big empty space, nothing special. There aren’t even seats inside. 

“Okay,” he says, nodding her inside. He must notice her hesitance when she looks down at her bare feet and then the inside of the van because he adds, “It’s cleaner in here than it is out there, trust me.” 

So Emma steps in and follows him to the middle of the van where there is a corkboard with images pinned to it, and this is when it all starts making sense to her, when everything begins falling into place and clicking together. 

“It’s a big project,” David is saying, but Emma is more focused on the pictures than what he’s saying. “But I thought we could work on it together. We already have other people who have volunteered their assistance as well.” 

The inside wall looks like someone who spends far too much time on Pinterest decided to make one of their boards tangible. There are RVs and minibusses and vans just like the one they are in that have been converted, a lot of DIYs and references. It’s not anything that she was expecting when she first saw the van, but now that she’s looking at the board that Snow probably made, she doesn’t know why her brain didn’t go in this direction. It makes sense. They do love going overboard. 

Emma laughs quietly, imagining how “Emma’s thinking about leaving Storybrooke” turned into “We should convert an old van into an apartment on wheels for Emma” because there’s no doubt in her mind that it would have been an amusing conversation with her parents involved. 

“Look, David, she’s laughing. I think that’s good?” 

Emma’s laughter strengthens, expanding in her chest and filling the empty van. “You were right. I think this is the most out-there present I have ever received—and not just because I have to make the present before I can use it.”

“The project is part of the gift.” David steps forward. Shoulder to shoulder, they look at the board. “Your mother thought this was a good idea because of the traveling, but I thought you needed something bigger than a trip.” 

Emma narrows her eyes. Because it feels like he knows all about how useless she’s been feeling lately. But she hadn’t even spoken to Snow about that until this afternoon. 

From outside the van, Snow clears her throat. “You need a project, Emma. You said it yourself in the kitchen, didn’t you? Maybe we had it wrong when we thought you wanted to get out of Storybrooke. But this, something to do, something to work on—” 

“A project,” Emma echoes, and the rush of excitement returns. This could be, dare she think it, just what she needs. 

v.

Emma kicks off her shoes in the mudroom and shoves them under the bench, out of the way so Regina doesn’t give her a death glare when she sees them later on in the night. She’s learned it’s a lot easier to simply follow the house rules at first attempt when it comes to Regina. Nobody threatens to withhold dinner and movie invitations this way, and Emma feels like she has earned a little checkmark next to her name every time Regina notices Emma has done something correctly. And who doesn’t like checkmarks and acknowledgments that they’re doing a good job? 

The smell that welcomes her isn’t deceitful like the one at her parents’ house. When her mouth waters and her stomach growls instinctively, she knows she’s about to be spoiled with something delicious. Regina never disappoints in the food department. (Or any department, really. It’s all tens across the board.) 

Coming to Storybrooke has brought a lot of people into her life, given her a lot to be thankful for. She had given up on a lot of things before Henry found her: having a family, finding a place she didn’t want to escape from after a few years, and even building lasting relationships. But everything changed the moment her son—which was wild and completely unexpected—appeared at her door. Everything changed, and even though it was chaos half the time, Emma couldn’t be more grateful for all of what she gained thanks to the chaos. Regina's friendship is definitely one of those things.

“You’re early,” Regina calls out over the sound of music playing in the kitchen. 

“I smelled food.” Emma hangs the hoodie she had thrown over her tank top up on a hook and follows the fragrant garlic and spicy peppers that are making her want to dance with delight before she has even tasted whatever yummy goodness Regina is putting together. 

Regina smiles warmly over her shoulder, skin a little flushed from the steam or maybe her own dancing. Because kitchen dancing is something Emma made sure to bring into Regina’s life when their friendship deepened and Emma found herself coming over more frequently than she had when they were co-parents first, friends second. She misses Henry. They both do. But when he left Storybrooke last year, Emma thought she was losing a son when really, she gained a best friend. 

“You look exhausted.” 

Emma snorts, moving to the sink to wash her hands so she can help—or pretend to help. Tasting is what she’s really after. “So everyone keeps telling me. What happened to the days your friends said nice things about you? Or did I only pick out the assholes?” 

Regina’s laughter is rich and throaty, followed by a thoughtful hum as she reaches for her wine glass and leans with her back against the counter. Emma withholds her own compliments out of spite, but Regina has her hair up with a clip and she’s in some of Emma’s favorite Emma-casualwear—which is different from Regina’s regular casual because everything looks comfy and soft, the opposite of what Regina likes to think of as casual. Emma thinks Regina looks pretty like this. But Regina doesn’t get to know that this time.

Emma peers into pots through clear lids and looks into the oven where there is bread being baked. And if she groans a little in her throat, well, that’s between her and the bread. “I take it back. You’re too good to me and my stomach to be an asshole.” 

“And not a raisin in sight,” Regina tells her, watching Emma with unveiled delight and a smirk. 

“Oh, no, don’t remind me.” Emma puts her face in her hands, and this time her groan is one of disgust. “I feel bad for all of their kids. If that’s what they bring to parties, imagine what they make every night for dinner. Henry was so lucky.” 

“You fed him tacos and hot dogs when he was at your house.” Regina’s tongue clicks disapprovingly. 

Emma glares and swats Regina with a nearby dishtowel. “Don’t even try comparing me to them. Tacos are full of nutrients, and I would never put raisins in them. That’s gotta be like the ninth deadly sin or something.” 

“There are only seven.” 

Emma narrows her eyes after hopping up on the counter. There are a few vegetables that haven’t been cooked that Emma eyes before deciding to go with a baby carrot. “You’re purposely missing the point.” 

Regina daintily shrugs one shoulder and turns back to the stove. “Your point will have better legs to stand on if you’re using factual information instead of hyperboles and inaccuracies. I’m teaching you a lesson.”

Emma can only roll her eyes and shake her head fondly. Regina is... Well, there’s nobody quite like her. Even when she’s being annoying, there’s some endearing quality also at play that makes it impossible to not find Regina, at the very least, intriguing. Even at their worst, Emma has always felt that way. She has always been drawn to her, the moth to Regina’s fireball flame. 

While Regina works on finishing up dinner, Emma replays her day. 

It’s been one of the best she’s had in a long while. She hadn’t expected it would be when she was awoken before dawn. But after dealing with the traffic light situation, everything else was pretty damn near perfect for the low standards she has been living by lately. Even the weird moments of uncertainty where she was sure Ruby was sending her off to an awkward conversation with her mother weren’t too terrible. And that conversation ended up being good for her. Emma had needed to talk to someone about the emptiness, and other than Regina, Emma doesn’t think anyone else would have been a good choice for that particular talk. Everyone jokes about Snow and her hope speeches, but, when it comes down to it, Snow usually has some wise things to say. Emma doesn’t always listen. But, still. 

Getting to hang out with her brother is always guaranteed fun. After the yard cleared out and it was just the family, Neal and Emma jumped together on the trampoline and played with the dogs. Emma’s pretty sure Snow took more than enough pictures of them to fill up an entire page in her scrapbook. (Because, yes, Snow does this despite all of the electronic alternatives to printing out pictures and making a big deal out of it.) 

Snow likes to think there’s a little bit of perfection in every day. And Emma can’t really get on board with that, not when she’s had an abundance of days that were pure shit. But today was a good one. There were definitely scrapbook-worthy moments. 

A wine glass is put into her hand, and Emma smiles as she gives it a taste. “This is how every day should end.” 

Regina hums when she meets Emma’s eyes. “With wine? Have I weaned you off the beer?” 

Emma shakes her head. “Not quite, and also not what I meant. The wine is good, but the company is what I’m here for.” 

Regina looks as though she’s about to say something, but a timer goes off and she quickly spins around to do something with the knobs on the stove. Emma slides off the counter and makes herself a little more useful and gets their dishes and silverware ready. They work well together. Everything flows smoothly when they’re in sync. Emma enjoys how easy it is. Hanging out with Regina reminds Emma that she can have these simple moments and they don’t have to feel difficult; it’s all so very natural. It almost quiets the loud voice that screams for more, not quite but it’s close enough right now. 

“So when did you plan on telling me my parents bought me a van to turn into a camper so I can go on some big epic road trip?” 

Regina only pauses her stirring slightly to peek at Emma out the corner of her eye before continuing. “What makes you think I knew?” 

Emma scoffs. “Snow doesn’t keep secrets from you.” 

“Snow doesn't know the meaning of secrets to keep one from anyone unless it serves her.” 

Emma doesn’t agree or disagree with that statement, decides to hop right over it. “Snow also would want your input because she trusts your opinion.” 

The very corner of Regina’s mouth twitches, a hint of a smile there. Emma knows that makes Regina all warm and gooey on the inside, but her response is still haughty as hell. “As she should. I have proven myself to be the most sensible and knowledgeable. My opinions should be valued.”

Emma laughs at that because Regina is not as sensible as she claims to be. Emma knows Regina’s aware of this, though, so she doesn’t point it out. “Okay, Miss Valuable Opinions. Did you also think I was having a midlife crisis?” 

“You’re thirty-six.” 

“Again, missing the point.” 

“Again, not being accurate.” 

“You are so annoying. I hope you know that.” 

Regina smirks. And is that pride in her eyes? “I repeat: again, not being accurate.” 

Emma groans. 

Regina laughs. 

Somehow Emma never actually finds out how much Regina knew about the van that will eventually be what Emma continues to call an apartment on wheels. But she does ask Emma if she’s planning on actually following through with her parents' plans and traveling, and that gets Emma thinking. Maybe a trip, a vacation from everything in Storybrooke, would be fun. But then Regina says something that makes Emma laugh and Emma pushes the idea out of her mind. Because, well, she would miss that. She would miss laughing with her best friend.

And if she’s supposed to be searching for what fulfills her, what enriches her life, certainly she’s not supposed to be leaving behind Regina. That just doesn’t make sense. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eep I'm super nervous sharing something new. like mega nervous. writing is hard. i could ramble about how social media totally killed my creativity. but I won't. I know that's not why y'all are here haha but let's just say leena and social media don't vibe. so I needed to escape that and find my way back to my happy place. which has always been writing and sharing stories that mean something to me. I've missed connecting with y'all this way, so here I am! and here the beginning of this story is.
> 
> thanks for reading and I appreciate any type of positive feedback y'all have. honestly don't want any negative commentary or "constructive criticism" here. so keep that to yourself, pls and thanks. I'm here for a good time, and this is mostly self-indulgent nonsense. it'll just be me and my favorite tropes over and over bc I'm predictable. so if you're into that: cool. if not? kindly move on to the next fic.
> 
> okay. that's all. hope you're all doing well and staying safe.
> 
> (edit: decided to make a twitter account just for fic content @hummingbirdsfic — read pinned tweet if you decide to follow.)  
> leena xx


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> december was hellish. most of january so far i was sick. and my internet decided, on top of everything else, it didn't want to work...so this chapter, which has been 95% done for about a month, has been sitting in my docs, waiting. sorry
> 
> I'm not sure how to feel about it. but I'm too sensitive about my writing to have anyone looking at it before I post, even if it would improve the fic. so I'm going to post this and hope for the best bc I'm ready to focus on the next chapter and the more time I spend on this one, the less sure I feel about it

beginnings. 

There was a time when fresh starts and new beginnings terrified Emma. Perhaps she can thank how often she was the new girl for that. New homes, new schools, new adults to impress—but never too much to give the other children a reason to torment her. Fresh starts were rarely positive moments in her life. So it made sense that she had never cared much for them growing up. 

In order to squash the fear of fresh starts, she developed a need to take the wheel of her life into her own hands. This need for control often led to her deciding to cut ties and get out on her own terms before anyone had the chance to force her into a situation she had no say in. If she had to start anew, she wanted to be the one to call the shots. No more foster families sending her away. No more fake friends to move on from. No more waking up to find someone else had decided it was time for her life to be turned upside down. Basically, Emma needed to be the one choosing the whens, wheres, whys, and hows.

But she believes she has come a long way from the twenty-something-year-old whose first instinct was to run in the opposite direction at the first sign of something she didn’t want to deal with. She might not jump for joy when life pushes her into unknown territory, but she faces it head-on and finds her way. Her strong survival skills have come in handy many times when dealing with the unknown. 

She has matured. It took a long time—years, many of them—but Emma has learned the value of not running out of fear of the unknown. She doesn’t attempt to avoid the messiness of her chaotic life. But even more importantly, she has discovered that sometimes the beginnings she was keen on avoiding before could actually be good for her. Before, when she wasn’t running away, she was clinging, and she had an awful tendency to hold on to that which was unhealthy for her. But she learned she didn’t have to hold on so tightly to what she knew just because she thought it was safer. Her reality proved to her that the devil she knew was _not_ better than the one she didn’t. And once she figured that out and accepted it, her way of thinking changed in many ways that have proven to be beneficial for her. 

Emma can honestly say she is now in a much better place in life because of this. So, these days she does find herself occasionally embracing the beginning stages. 

There is one day in particular she thinks back on whenever she needs a reminder that beginnings aren’t awful, and that is usually motivation enough to get her in a more positive headspace when something is unfamiliar and old habits try to reappear. 

It’s the day she signed her lease. The day she signed the lease for her apartment just happened to be the same her divorce was finalized. Divorced and living on her own in a brand new place for the first time in years, she was facing two significant fresh starts at once. And yet, she couldn’t have felt more at ease at that moment if she tried. There had been no fear, no pressure, not a single worry about what would come next. It was like she had been handed an empty book and a pen and told she could start her next story, the next stages of her life hers to create. It felt like freedom. 

Beginnings are like blank spaces, and blanks spaces have the potential to be anything we want them to be. 

i.

The amount of information Emma finds on the internet when she looks up van conversions is overwhelming. It’s like there is an entire world or culture she hadn’t even known existed; videos viewed by hundreds of thousands, how-to-guides, online communities, so many different van layouts and types. Emma had thought she would quickly print out a few pages and then head over to her parents’ house to show David what she liked. She thought she would be in and out, no fuss, hadn’t even sat down in her chair because she didn’t think she would need to be comfortable. 

But it’s been over two hours, two hours and too many YouTube videos about what is apparently called van life amongst the community. YouTube is dangerous like that. She had only wanted to look at the bed in a thumbnail she saw when she was looking at images, and then one click turned into two, and then another, and well. As she said, YouTube is dangerous when you’re meant to be doing something productive. 

With it being Sunday and the cells being empty, Emma is the only one inside the office. The quietness when she finishes her last video and notices it’s already noon feels wrong and out of place. Even though they’re not the hotspot for big battles and unpredictable magic these days, normally she can count on the chatter of her deputies as they come in and out during their shifts. The office doesn’t usually feel clouded with stale energy the way it does when nobody else is around. It’s almost cold despite the good weather outside. Emma shivers uncomfortably and decides the off-putting mood of the room is a cue that she should finish up quickly and head out. She has plenty to look forward to today, after all. There’s no reason she should be hanging out on her own in the deserted office on a Sunday. 

As Emma scrolls through her history to gather the pages she wants to print, her cell phone vibrates in her back pocket. She assumes it’s probably David wondering if she’s still going to be coming over early with plans for the van, so she nearly ignores it so she can have everything together before responding. But then a few more texts come through, which is unlike David and more than likely to be Regina. A string of texts is often Regina—and how surprising that had been when Regina started texting her about more than Henry’s schedule or something related to work. 

Regina double—triple, quadruple, and whatever comes after that—texts. Sometimes each text is a full thought, like she held onto each of them until she had the time to send every thought she wanted to share with Emma. Those are Emma’s favorite. There’s something special about feeling like someone as busy as Regina can be throughout the day still thinks about her and saves messages she wants to send. 

(Last Thursday had been hellish for Regina. She hadn’t found time to respond to one of Emma’s morning texts until it was nearly midnight. But when she did, it was with seven texts. None were related to the previous one—or even Emma’s original message about her kickboxing class. From a detailed update of how the mayor’s day went to a random comment about a vase filled with a beautiful flower arrangement she took a picture of, her texts were all over the map. But Emma sleepily responded to each of them while forcing herself to stay awake just a little longer so she had time to talk to Regina before they both fell asleep.)

Other times, which is more often, Regina is an impatient texter and has been known to respond to her own texts before Emma has even gotten the chance to read them, like she’s just having a conversation out loud and needed a witness to her thought process. Emma finds these amusing. She also finds Regina’s impatience hilarious because Regina is just as bad as Emma is at responding to text messages when a lot is going on. 

Emma opens her messages and quirks an eyebrow as she reads, but she quickly responds before Regina decides for her. It’s about coffee. And even though she trusts Regina’s high standards, when asked to choose her personal preference, she’d rather her actual opinion be known. 

_Top picture,_ she responds simply. Regina had taken pictures of a few different brands and asked which Emma liked most. They’re all acceptable—as is expected because, well, it’s Regina. But the first option is the one Regina always has in the house, and Emma will typically choose it over what was previously her go-to before coffee with Regina became a common occurrence. It’s the coffee Emma dreams about when she’s in the middle of a stack of paperwork and the day feels like it’s never going to end. The aroma alone makes it worth every dollar the gourmet bag costs. 

When Regina says no more, Emma tucks her phone away and thinks nothing of it. Her opinion is sought after from time to time, so there is nothing unusual about the question. She continues with her tasks in the office and prints out her favorite van layouts. After a quick sweep across both the inner and outer rooms to make sure she hasn’t forgotten anything, as she often does, she grabs her keys from the desk and locks up. It isn’t until she’s back in her car and on her way to the farmhouse that her mind strays away from the van. This time it’s thanks to the ringing of her phone. 

She pops an earbud in and answers with a smile, a familiar rush of warmth shooting through her at the sight of Regina’s name once again on her phone. “Texts and now a phone call. You must really miss me.” Her voice is as light as the breeze that blows through her wavy hair, soft and teasing. Emma can picture the way Regina would be rolling her eyes if they were in the same room, but she knows the twitch of the other woman’s lips just as well and knows Regina would be biting back a rebellious smile that would give away her true feelings. “What’s going on?” 

“Come outside. I’ll be there in two minutes,” she instructs with very little fanfare. If Regina can be counted on for one thing during a phone call, it’s her waste no time, straight to the point attitude. Emma appreciates it, honestly. She never has to pull anything out of Regina the way she does with others. (Unless Regina is purposely hiding something, but that is rare these days.) 

“Not that I wouldn’t be thrilled to have an unexpected visitor—because you know how much I _love_ those...”

“Remind me to send a five-day notice next time I might be in the area.” The dryness of Regina’s tone does nothing but make Emma’s half-grin grow into a proper, full smile. “Obviously, I had not planned on coming over or I would have told you beforehand to avoid this conversation.” 

“You? Not planning something? Yeah, that sounds likely.” Emma snorts amusedly. 

Regina plans _everything_ all the time, something Emma doesn’t have the patience for usually. Emma just does the thing and hopes for the best. That is the way she handles most things in her life, a method that Regina does not agree with. Her methods are most certainly frowned upon. 

“I’m totally buying this story, especially the part about you wanting to avoid a conversation with me. Not like you call me just because you enjoy the banter or anything like that.” 

“Why don’t you save the sarcasm and extrospections for later and come let me in?”

“Well, for one, sarcasm is never to be saved for later. It’s how we bond, Madam Mayor. And secondly, I’m not even home. I’m actually heading in the opposite direction of home right now.” 

Regina huffs into the phone and then the jingle of her keys follows as she, assumedly, turns off her car and then steps out. The noise level rises and Emma can hear the passing of other cars, the liveliness of her street, much louder than where Emma currently is deeper in the woods. Emma’s side of the call is white noise in comparison to the much noisier end that she gets to listen to as she tries to track movements as Regina stays on the phone but says nothing to Emma. There’s the rustle of reusable bags that is distinct, the slamming of a car door or trunk, and a few heavy breaths that make Emma wonder exactly what it is Regina is doing. But Emma finds all of it wondrously soothing to listen to as she drives, so she doesn’t question anything. 

Sometimes after a long day, she likes to call Regina for the short drive home and they share how their days have gone and what they’re planning on doing for the rest of the evening. So Emma’s used to this, to listening to Regina move around and do whatever she needs to get done while they’re on the phone. She likes the noise, will keep Regina on speaker even once she gets to her apartment and starts settling for the night. It’s no different now as she heads over to her parents’ house. 

“I’m letting myself in,” Regina announces after a few minutes have passed. 

“Are you informing me that you’re breaking and entering before doing so? Is that what this is?” Emma smoothly makes her turn, the ticking of her signal under the sound of her quick chuckle. “Who would have guessed you were such a polite thief, Regina?” 

A small, nasal noise comes through the phone. “You’ll find I left no signs of tampering with the locking mechanisms, and nothing is missing. A thief, I am not.”

“We’ll just see what the local authorities have to say about that.” 

When Regina hums, it’s low and long and deep down in her throat. If she wasn’t driving, Emma just might close her eyes and savor the sound of it. The attention she gives the winding road ahead of her doesn’t keep her from picturing Regina in her sparsely decorated kitchen, leaning against the counter with a thoughtful look, composing the perfect retort. It’s an easy image to conjure up. She has seen it often. Regina in her kitchen, her apartment, in any of Emma’s spaces, is familiar in a way that Emma really loves. 

Despite them being on the phone, imagining Regina in her apartment while Emma herself is not there makes her miss the other woman. There’s always a missing component to their conversations when they aren’t having them face to face. Phone calls don’t allow Emma to catalog every arch of an eyebrow; she misses the way eyes darken or narrow or roll heavenward. So much of what Regina is feeling in any given moment can easily be read in her expressions, and Emma has no problem admitting she often says things just to get a reaction from Regina because she can’t get enough of how expressive Regina can become. So she misses that when they’re on the phone.

“Are you no longer the authorities in this scenario? Or do you plan on reporting me to yourself?” Emma imagines the slow lift of a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, the corner of lipstick-stained lips quirking, can clearly picture the teasing sparkle in deep brown eyes. Once she starts picturing how Regina might be looking at her, it’s the only image playing through her mind. “And what, pray tell, might you be reporting me for? Breaking in and leaving you groceries? Stocking your fridge and cabinets with essentials and healthy food isn’t quite the offense you like to portray it as, my dear.” 

Emma’s parking in her parents’ driveway, so it takes her a moment to process what Regina has said. But once she does, she pauses completely and looks at her phone with a puzzled look as though the other woman can see her. “Wait, really? You went food shopping for me?” The disbelief only lasts for a quick moment because, well, buying Emma groceries isn’t the most outlandish thing Regina has done. It might not even be the first time Regina took it upon herself to replace key things missing from Emma’s cupboards when she knew Emma was out of something. But before Henry lived with Emma. This is different. 

Regina clears her throat and simply responds, “One of us had to.” She sounds like she’s trying to brush it off, make it sound like it’s insignificant, just another thing anyone would do. But it isn’t. 

Scooching down in her seat after turning the car off, it’s easy to tease Regina about it—carefully. There is a thin line that Emma has had years of practice walking across, one step too far over and her joking and poking fun can easily flip a switch in Regina that either makes her shut down or rile up in a way that is neither pleasant nor wanted. But Emma likes teasing her, has an undeniable reckless side that will play with fire despite the dangers. Thankfully for Emma, she might have made a best friend out of the one woman she has met who enjoys it as much as she does.

“So when did personal shopping for the sheriff’s office become one of the mayor’s duties?”

Regina scoffs. “Your department should be so lucky.” 

“Oh, sheriffs only benefit, then? Health, dental, vision, a decent number of paid time off days,” Emma begins listing, her smile growing with every word until she’s sure it looks a little wild with the laughter she’s trying to hold in, “and my new personal favorite: grocery shopping.” 

Her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth. “The sheriff hasn’t earned the privilege either.” Regina pauses, and Emma can hear the closing of her refrigerator door in the background, a reusable bag being shaken out, and then Regina’s keys jingling again. When she continues, her voice is more distant and something about her words or tone are carefully chosen. Emma can’t pinpoint what makes them seem that way, but she can _feel_ the slight hesitation. “That would be a benefit that comes with my friendship, not your job.” 

It’s probably that same hesitation that makes Emma dumbly wonder what other benefits come with Regina’s friendship. Not only wonder, but ask. Because, why the heck not? But when Emma questions, “Purely out of curiosity, what other benefits do you offer with your friendship?” Regina only releases a throaty noise in response that feels syrupy and sticky as it drips down to settle somewhere behind Emma’s navel.

“I’m ignoring your question and hanging up the phone now. Goodbye, Emma,” she says, bringing their conversation to what feels like an abrupt end.

Emma pouts, mindlessly playing with a keychain charm that’s dangling from the ignition. But she needs to get going as well, so she stretches and grunts and grumbles, “Fine. See you later,” through a yawn. 

ii. 

There are times when Emma feels like she messed up somewhere along the way after getting her fresh start at the beginning of the year. Because, really, what has she done to change the way it previously felt like she had given up on living and settled for merely surviving? What changes has she made to improve her quality of life? 

It had been one thing to blame her marriage for how stagnant everything felt while she was trying to make others happy regardless of how it made her feel. But after getting divorced and working on no longer making decisions based on the needs of everyone else, she can’t blame her marriage or those unhealthy tendencies. Emma escaped that hellscape and moved on. 

It’s been months since she was tied to another person in that suffocating, draining way. But it’s now uncomfortably clear to her that escaping had not been enough. She continues to feel stuck and unsatisfied, always craving the unnamable and seemingly unreachable more. The fact that the emptiness has not faded is what makes her wonder if she messed up somehow, if she’s failed once again. 

Because she was given a chance to figure out what brought excitement into her life. A door had been opened for her when the curses died down and the town started to become normal—or something normal adjacent. (After all, most people wouldn’t find the inhibitors of Storybrooke all that normal after first glance.) But Emma had no clue where to begin back then. Emma _still_ has no clue. Walking through that door doesn’t feel easy. Obstacles stand in her way, and maybe more of them are self-imposed than she is ready to admit to even herself.

And that’s the problem. 

There had been a clear starting point for her, a moment where she knew it was time to start anew and make the best of a bad situation. That was what everyone else around her was doing: searching for their happiness and taking it. Even her parents, Snow White and freaking Prince Charming, were living their best small-town life after everything they had gone through that brought them to Storybrooke and the family together. But what has Emma been doing? Her first attempt—her marriage and total loss of her identity—had been disastrous. Her second try... Well, Emma’s not sure she can even say she’s had a real go at it this round.

So sometimes, yeah, she wonders if she messed up things for herself somewhere along the way. She questions if she took a wrong turn, held back when she should have raced forward, or ignored an important sign. She knows she does this often. There can be flashing lights and arrows pointing her in the right direction, but still, she can so easily miss what is right in front of her. 

This project, this gift her parents have given her, she wonders if it is part of the answer she has been looking for. Is this empty van another blank page? Is it another chance to begin again? Because the more she and David work out the details and make messy sketches of their plans, the more it feels like she’s creating more than a camper. 

iii. 

Emma throws down the tape measure and it thuds loudly on the wood surface, filling the barn with a booming sound that must alarm everyone else because they all go silent. Emma doesn’t care, though. She has been sitting at the workbench for so long her butt is starting to feel numb and nothing is working out on the paper the way it is in her head. She’s beyond frustrated.

Behind her, her dad tells everyone to get back to work and that everything is okay. He abandons his spot with August and Geppetto and walks over to her, the voices of the others who have come to assist with the van build slowly spilling back into the open space. When he reaches Emma, he places his hand on her shoulder and rubs comfortingly, warm and gentle and supportive. It’s enough to make Emma loosen the tension beneath his hand and sigh softly. 

“What is it?” David asks as he looks over Emma’s shoulder. 

She shoves the offending sketch away and yanks the elastic from her hair to let her blonde waves fall free. She massages her scalp as she complains, fighting the urge to pull her hair out and scream. “You know, for a minute I actually thought this would be fun.” She tries to keep the grouchiness to a minimum, but she can’t help but feel let down somehow, like it’s the van’s fault it needs so much work and her plans won’t materialize without the effort. “I knew it was going to take time and we would need to figure out a lot of crap before we could start putting things together, but _ugh_ , there’s _so_ much to think about,” she groans, “and everything needs to be precise and accurate.” Her voice is laced with defeat already and it’s only day one. “I think this might be a good time to tell you I failed woodshop and was never any good at math.” 

David half-laughs good-naturedly along with her when she ends her mini-rant. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. Let’s have a look at what you’ve got so far.” He folds his arms across his chest and studies her latest draft with an amount of serious interest that Emma doesn’t think the paper deserves. 

It’s probably her tenth try at getting something concrete drawn out. The working surface is covered in crumbled papers—and a few snapped pencils. It’s been A Day. The excitement she had when she first arrived, the inspiration from her online searches still fresh, has faded and left her with only the overwhelmed feeling that comes with knowing there are a lot of options and she needs to narrow it down to one even though she can see the benefits to so many of the different layouts.

“This looks like a good start to me,” David tells her like he has no idea why Emma is unhappy with what she’s drawn. “We can work on the dimensions together and see what we have room for, but this is good, Emma.” 

Emma frowns at her draft, at her scribbles and notes. It looks like something Neal could have drawn. “It’s crap and you know it. Don’t lie to me, David.” She reaches for the paper, ready to add it to her growing collection of rejected designs, but her father swipes it from the table first and holds it out of reach. 

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” he admonishes—as gently as one can, always going for the supportive tone even when Emma’s getting frustrated with herself and wants to punch something. “I see where you’re going with the layout. And the notes for where you want storage cabinets are actually going to be really helpful. You did a good job,” he stresses once more, the sincerity of his words coloring his tone with its richness, “but I think maybe it’s time you give the blueprints a break and come work on something that’s more hands-on. It’ll get you out of your head and you can see the progress we’ve made. What do you say?” 

She can’t disagree that she needs to get out of her head. There are too many choices to be made, and it’s starting to overwhelm her and make the entire build sound unpleasant. And Emma doesn’t want that. She really had been looking forward to it earlier, so she knows he’s right. She just needs to separate herself from the stupid drafts that aren’t coming out the way she wants. A little time actually working on the van will do her good. 

She looks behind her to where the van sits with all of the doors opened and sighs. It’s not much to look at right now—it needs a paint job, the windows haven’t been cut out yet, and nearly everything has been stripped from the inside—but she wants to make something special and uniquely hers out of it. It’s silly how just the day before it was just a van that looked abandoned and out of place inside the barn but today Emma already feels a strong connection to it. It’s _hers._ And maybe that’s why she’s so frustrated, why she’s so annoyed with the sketches she can’t get done well enough for her own standards. Because she wants this van to be perfect. Not perfect as in ready for an Instagram post or some magazine cover, but a perfect representation of herself, something that will feel like home even while away from her true home.

“Okay,” she agrees, turning back to look at David. She nods. “You’re gonna have to catch me up on what’s being done, but, yeah, doing some hands-on work sounds good.” 

Grinning, her father steps aside so she can swing her legs out from underneath the bench and follow him to the van. “More than happy to.” 

There is a surprising amount of work being done considering they haven’t decided on a lot of the basics yet. David climbs into the van, the top of his head nearly touching the roof, and shows her where they started getting it ready for some of the wiring they’ll need to do. Areas where they’ll need to cut for windows and inserting fans have been marked. And one small section of a wall is already in the process of being insulated, which Emma decides she’ll work on after he finishes showing her what else is going on. 

When David told her that they would have some help, she hadn’t expected so many people to show up. But there are stations set up around the barn, and each station has several volunteers. People have donated parts, their skills, their time, and their energy without wanting anything more than to be part of the process, to give back, to do something for Emma—and she must admit she’s still a little blown away by the kindness of it all. Before Storybrooke, she doesn’t think she would have truly believed people could be this selfless, could care about her this much, but she can’t deny what she has actual evidence of now. As David walks her around and everyone happily shares what they’re working on to contribute, Emma is reminded that these people, this town, they’re all important to her and they obviously think the same of Emma. She’s not just the savior or the sheriff. She’s their friend and family, and sometimes she forgets that, but moments like this when everyone comes together, she’s reminded. 

She feels like she needs to apologize for all the annoyance she has let slip during her more grouchy days recently, but she can tell none of them hold it against her—or even noticed, probably, because she does work hard to keep a smile on her face for appearance’s sake even when she’s in a bad mood. But maybe that’s also part of what makes Storybrooke and all the people in it feel like home and family. Even when she is dreading what comes the following day and someone has pissed her off, at the end of the day, they all have each other’s backs. They all genuinely care about each other in their little town hidden away in a corner of Maine. It’s heartwarming.

Talking to everyone lifts her mood, and once she’s back in the van and working with the expanding foam—and trying not to make a mess of it—she actually finds herself grinning. David was right. Emma needed to step back from drafting. She actually feels like she’s getting something done now, and she’s even gotten some new ideas from listening to the input of others. 

Someone kicks the music up a few notches and Emma peeks out of the van. The familiar intro of _Livin’ on a Prayer_ starts up and it doesn’t take long for people to start singing along. It’s a few here and there, a couple of people tapping against metal parts or wood, and then the chorus starts going and everyone joins in and the barn is _alive_ and _bursting_ with energy. 

Emma feels a rush, like a contact high, is smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. When was the last time she actually felt like this? This happy, so connected to others, full to the brim with pure joy? It’s thrilling. 

She gets back to work, singing along into the expanding foam gun, a little bop in her steps and swing to her hips, feeling almost giddy. It’s a hot day and wisps of her blonde hair that escaped the haphazard ponytail she threw it back in are sticking to her skin, but she isn’t bothered by that or how ridiculous she probably looks. She loves a good sing-along these days, especially after she’s been frustrated and needs to shake off the negative energy. It’s either this or breaking something—and she’s trying to build things right now, not tear them apart.

This is of course how Ruby finds her: plaid shirt tied around her waist, loudly screaming the lyrics to the Bon Jovi song, dancing like nobody’s watching her (because nobody had been until Ruby wolf-whistled and nearly scared Emma half to death). Emma whirls around so quickly she almost trips over her own feet. She grabs the wall and catches herself before her face can make friends with the floor.

Ruby’s laughter is immediate. “Careful there.” 

Emma’s a little out of breath from the dancing and getting startled; her heart pounds fiercely beneath her clutching hand. “Jesus, Ruby. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” 

She at least manages to look apologetic as she runs her eyes over Emma, perhaps making sure she didn’t hurt herself. It wouldn’t be Emma’s first accident to come as a result of her clumsiness. “You’re fine. And you would have noticed me approaching if you weren’t so lost in the moment of your little performance.” Her eyes glitter even inside the barn, humor bright and dancing happily. “Nice moves, by the way.”

Emma wipes her brow with the back of her hand and carefully drops her tool down to the floor. She really had gotten carried away while by herself, not unlike the rest of the people who are still loudly singing as another song comes through the speakers around the barn. Everybody is clearly having a good time. So Emma doesn’t allow her slight embarrassment from being caught show. 

“Well you’ve got my attention now,” she tells Ruby, dropping down so she can sit, her legs hanging out of the van. She gently knocks one of her feet against a black denim-covered thigh and chuckles a bit when her friend playfully shoves her away, grinning back at Emma. “What can I do for you?”

“Not getting me dirty with your boots would be a good start.” But she only laughs as Emma nudges again. “We brought over lunches and refreshments for everyone, some sandwiches and stuff. Granny’s way of helping out.” 

It seems like Emma’s heart is meant to be filled with nothing but warmth today because everything is making her feel loved and cared for. How far down her little self-pity hole had she let herself fall if her friends bringing over sandwiches makes her feel this way? She feels _soft_ and too emotional for this current moment. She has to clear her throat before daring to speak because it all builds up thick and solid in her throat. 

“Make sure you give my thanks when you return. I know everyone’s probably worked up an appetite—at least I have, so it’s definitely appreciated.”

“It’s no problem, really. But I’ll make sure to let her know. And _you_ better make sure you grab something before everything disappears,” Ruby says with a laugh, looking over toward the other side of the large barn briefly. Emma can’t see what she’s looking at, but she’s willing to bet that the table with the food already has a crowd around it.

Emma agrees with a hum. She should probably get up and get a sandwich and take a break, maybe go inside the house for a little while and watch some more videos on her phone for inspiration. But first... She turns back to face Ruby, wondering why the other woman is watching her so closely she can feel the heat of her stare. “What’s up? Why are you looking at me like you’re trying to see the inside of my head?”

“I wanted to make sure you were doing okay today. You didn’t drop by this morning. I wasn’t sure if, you know...” Ruby shrugs her shoulders a bit, suddenly far more serious than she had been before. The same concern that had been thick in her voice the last time they spoke is once again present. “I meant what I said yesterday about being worried about you. I know you don’t like being pushed when you’re not ready to talk about something, Emma, but I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. I know sometimes I overstep a little—” 

The uncertainty in Ruby’s voice makes Emma feel unsettled. She cuts Ruby off before her friend can worry herself too much more. “Hey, I’m okay. If this is about you talking to Snow,” Emma begins, watching the way Ruby’s head bows like she’s preparing for the worst, “then don’t worry about it. We’re good. And I’m sorry for making you worry about me.”

Ruby waves off the apology as soon as it leaves Emma’s mouth. “Worrying about the people I love is automatic. You signed up for a fiercely loyal and protective friend, in case you’ve forgotten. The worry is inevitable.” 

“Okay,” Emma accepts easily. There is no reason not to when she knows that Ruby has proven to Emma enough times that she only wants to be a good friend and support her when Emma needs it. “Anyway, after I left here last night I went over to Regina’s house to hang out. It was one-hundred-percent worry-free, completely chill, and just what I needed. It was time for a reset, and I’m feeling much better now,” she shares with a growing smile she can’t keep from taking over her face, remembering the time spent talking and laughing and watching Netflix. “Plus, she made me dinner and sent me home with the leftovers. So you don’t have to worry about me living off only coffee or whatever it was you said yesterday.” 

Ruby smiles at that and relaxes, leaning against the door with her arms crossed under her chest. A visible wave of relief washes over her. And just like that, she’s back to her normal self. “Good. I’ll have to thank your wife next time I see her. I don’t know how much longer I could politely pretend not to notice the bags under your eyes.”

“Politely pretend? You tell me about the bags under my eyes all the time.” Emma groans, rubbing her face with both her hands while Ruby starts chuckling. “And you know she knows you call her that, right?”

“No judgment here, you know that. But if she’s going to act like your wife all the time...” Ruby shrugs, the most unbothered anyone could be. “You two act just as married as Dorothy and I, and we’re married married for real, Ems. It’s only fair I get to tease you when you and Regina make it so easy for me.”

Emma shakes her head and, really, they’ve had this conversation a million and one times by now. There’s no use trying to get Ruby to stop. And Regina was neither surprised nor bothered when she found out Ruby called her that. Which Emma still can’t believe because _she_ flushes red hot all over from time to time when Ruby jokes about it. 

“One day you’re going to push the wrong button and Regina’s going to make you regret the day you thought it was a good idea to get under her skin, and I’m just going to sit back and watch because you deserve whatever happens to you.”

“Oh, please. Regina’s far from scary. I’ll just take a bite out of her if she tries anything.” Ruby lunges forward and _snaps_ a human but still vicious bite of the air, growling in her throat. She starts laughing when Emma rolls her eyes. But then she silently considers something and the sound darkens a little. “But Regina would probably enjoy that, huh? She’s the type to, isn’t she?” Emma opens her mouth, but Ruby keeps on going before she can get a word in. “And don’t even pretend you don’t know, Emma. You probably know all of her dirty kinks by now.” Ruby grins wolfishly, looking far too pleased with the way she’s making Emma turn ten different shades of red.

Emma groans and wishes she had something to throw at Ruby. “Can we not talk about her like that while she’s not here to threaten to skin you alive for it? Jesus.” 

“Not talk about who like what?” Dorothy asks as she makes her way over with a bottle of water for each of them and a few sandwiches. She looks between them, brow raised curiously.

Emma catches the water tossed her way and answers, nearly dropping the bottle as she fumbles over the words that leave her mouth. “My wife. I mean, my Regina. Regina. Regina. Oh my God!” Her skin burns with embarrassment as the other two women laugh loudly. 

Dorothy drapes an arm over Ruby’s shoulders and smirks at Emma. “Where is your wife anyway? I thought she would have been here.” 

“She’s not my wife. I don’t think she even wants to get married,” Emma starts replying, only stopping herself when she realizes what she’s saying and how Dorothy and Ruby are both grinning like madwomen. “Not that that matters when _I’m_ not looking for a wife anyway. I haven’t even been divorced for a year yet. Not that that matters either.” Emma snatches the sandwich closest to her, needing to stuff her mouth before something else unnecessary comes out of it.

“You’re going to need a ladder to get yourself out of that hole you’re digging yourself, friend.” 

Morosely, Emma murmurs, “I think I’ll just bury myself instead.” 

Ruby pouts and softens her eyes, looking mildly apologetic. “Don’t be like that, babe. You know we’re just teasing. Right, Dorothy?” She elbows her wife’s side gently and Dorothy nods accordingly. “See? We’ll behave.” 

“I’m honestly not sure you know how to behave.” 

“I resent that. I can be good.” 

“Good at misbehaving, maybe. Now that I would believe.” 

Ruby’s pouting lips get kissed by Dorothy who says, “Emma’s got a point, but we still love you like mad, Wolfie.” 

Ruby kisses Dorothy back, but she still huffs about it. 

Emma only laughs into her water bottle, deciding to not say anything else and just have her lunch.

iv. 

Emma is leaving the bathroom when she hears the sound of her mother’s voice coming from the front of the house. She decides to follow it and finds Snow struggling to carry a large crate, her normally fair skin nearly as red as the plump tomatoes that are trying to spill from the box. Emma’s eyebrow quirks with curiosity and amusement at the sight of the grumbling, out of breath woman.

“A little help would be appreciated, Emma.” 

“Oh! Right, yeah.” Emma laughs a little as she shakes away her amusement from the sight of her mother and rushes over to stop Snow from making a mess all over the hardwood floor. She easily snatches the crate up with both hands just as Snow’s own give out on her. “Got it.” She uses her hip to lift it higher and carries it comfortably.

Snow huffs out a long, tired breath and beams at Emma. “Thanks, honey. Where’s your father? I was calling him to help.” 

Emma nods in the direction they’re heading. “Out back. Leroy’s got the music going, so it’s noisy out there. Probably didn’t hear you.” Emma looks down at the abundance she carries and wonders aloud, “What’s up with all the tomatoes? Please don’t tell me we’re having tomato soup for dinner.” It’s hot and she’s not really a fan of soup, especially not tomato if it doesn’t come with grilled cheese. Even then, it’s the grilled cheese that’s important, not the soup. 

Snow unbuckles her fanny pack and tosses it onto the counter on her way to the fridge. She’s still noticeably out of breath and overheated, but there’s excitement in her voice when she answers Emma. “No soup. We’re canning them!” She opens both of the side-by-side doors so the cool air blasts from the freezer and fridge. “Oh, much better,” she sighs dreamily, eyes falling shut. Emma has to refrain from laughing at Snow when her mother spreads her arms like she’s trying to hug the cold. 

“What do you mean _we’re_ canning them? I don’t know the first thing about canning tomatoes.” 

“She says, surprising nobody.” 

Regina’s drawled words coming from behind Emma almost make her jump and drop her crate, but she manages to get the tomatoes to the safety of the island just in time. Emma glares over her shoulder, but Regina only smirks in return. She’s carrying her own box of tomatoes, her skin sun-kissed and glowing with a light sheen of sweat. She’s not as out of breath as Snow, but they both look like they’ve been outside in the heat for quite a while. 

“Where have you two been?” Emma questions. She crosses the short distance to where Regina is and takes the tomatoes from her like she did with Snow’s. Regina hadn’t been struggling to hold on to hers as much, but the strain in her forearms had still been noticeable.

Regina thanks Emma and slides her freed hand through her hair, shaking out windswept, sweaty hair and moving it away from her neck as much as she can. It’s grown a considerable amount since the last time she cut it, and Emma can tell sometimes she’s just itching to pick up a pair of scissors and shorten it again. Emma secretly hopes she doesn’t. There’s an added softness to Regina’s face when she wears her hair longer that Emma really likes and would probably miss. 

“We started off at my sister’s house,” Regina begins answering as she goes over to the sink to wash her hands and then retrieve clean glasses for water. “Your mother was bringing Neal for a playdate with Robin, and I had a few items to drop off. Already in the area, as you might have guessed, we then went to the farmers market. Did you know this is the best time to buy fresh tomatoes?” Regina actually looks excited to share this tomato fact with Emma, but Emma can’t stop snorting out a small laugh through her nose. 

“No, can’t say I know much of anything about fresh tomatoes except that they’re good on a BLT.” 

Regina attempts to hide that she’s smiling by sighing behind her glass of water, but Emma isn’t fooled. The look in her eyes is too fond when she looks Emma’s way. “Oh, I have so much to teach you.” 

“No offense, Regina, but your methods of teaching in the past have been kinda, um, well...” 

“Unorthodox,” Snow supplies helpfully. “Dangerous. Nearly deadly.”

“Yeah, that, all of that.” Emma nods. Regina shrugs, unbothered. “I still can’t look at bridges without thinking about the time you almost let me die as a magic lesson.” 

“Did it not work?”

“That is not the point. I could have _died,_ Regina.” Emma huffs out a breath, but there are no genuine hard feelings. 

And Regina obviously knows this because her response is: “Unfortunately, you were a decent student and didn’t. You saved yourself. The bridge is the one that should be complaining.” A gasp comes from her mother, but Emma grins, shaking her head as Regina innocently asks, “What?”

Snow shuts the refrigerator doors after that and excuses herself to go freshen up before she and Regina get to the canning. While she heads to her bedroom, Regina asks for Emma’s help bringing in the rest of what’s in the car. It’s mostly the jars they will be using and other vegetables from their shopping. Working together, Emma and Regina are quickly able to get everything inside and on the counters with only two trips for Regina and three for Emma. 

Regina makes Emma drink some water and they sit down where Emma had been before Regina and Snow arrived. Her notepad and stack of graph paper are spread out on the table, her quick sketches and printed photos from online scattered across the wood surface. Regina looks over everything with interest, and Emma watches her silently for a few minutes. 

Regina taps her forefinger against one of the layouts and then picks up the page, bringing it closer to them. Emma looks down at it. The walls are wood panels the color of golden honey, enhanced by the glow of the sunrise the woman in the photo is watching. The bed is massive, covered in blankets, one of the fixed beds that have storage space underneath and uses an actual mattress instead of cushions that go on top of the converted table. The small kitchen area has a stovetop and a toaster oven next to the deep sink. Emma had thought this particular van looked cozy when she first saw it; it’s one of her favorites.

“Like that one?”

Regina hums softly and takes a few more seconds looking at the printed photo before handing it over to Emma. “I can see you in here.” 

“Yeah?” She smiles at that because Emma has actually been leaning towards this layout, has been basing a lot of her sketches and plans on this van design. “It doesn’t look like it belongs in a showroom—which I definitely don’t want. It has the necessities and nothing extra, no added fuss. It’s simple.”

She’s still looking at everything so she almost misses the way Regina is watching her with a thoughtful look, but Emma raises her eyes just in time to catch it before it disappears. She lifts her brow in question, but Regina merely shakes her head and smiles gently. 

“I’m still surprised someone is allowing you around power tools,” she tells Emma, although Emma is sure that isn’t what she was thinking about. But Emma knows if it’s something important, Regina will eventually share whatever is on her mind.

With mock outrage, Emma instead gasps and replies in a very serious voice that holds no laughter at all, absolutely none. “Hey, I’m not _that_ clumsy! I can be trusted with electric tools and sharp objects.”

Regina’s eyebrow and scoff do all the speaking for Regina when the expressive little thing hitches upward and has the nerve to _look_ like it’s full of disbelief. A bunch of little strands of hair have no right to be so loud. 

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating.” 

“And my apple tree didn’t like when you removed its limb,” Regina retorts, daring Emma to fight her point with a meaningful glare and a fold of her arms over the table. 

Emma almost does—because it’s what she does, what _they_ do, but she folds and lets Regina have this one. “Touché, Madam Mayor. Touché.” 

Regina looks inordinately pleased after that, a satisfied grin taking over her face. And Emma decides the way she smiles is worth having to concede. 

v.

The next time she gets Regina to herself isn’t until much later in the night. 

Sundays are naturally busy with family dinners and everyone catching up while doing their part in making the food. Sunday’s the one night of the week where Emma’s impossibly large, mismatched family that is connected less by blood and more by love and loyalty are guaranteed to all be in the same place. And because there are so many people, one-on-one time isn’t easy to have. And this Sunday has been busier than most due to the work being done for Emma’s van.

The day has been exhausting and loud. And much to Emma’s displeasure, Regina was almost always somewhere Emma was not. But after tomatoes have been canned, dinner made and had, and everyone who came over to help with the van build has gone to their own homes, Regina comes looking for Emma. 

Emma is inside the van by herself, where she has been since she escaped with a bowl of ice cream that is long gone. A perfectly manicured eyebrow arches as Regina tilts her head questioningly, entering the quiet, dark barn through the small opening Emma left when she closed the door behind herself. Leaving it slightly ajar means she’s only _sorta_ hiding. She’s happy Regina doesn’t open it any wider. If anybody understands Emma’s need to get away from the crowd to recharge, it is probably Regina. 

“Is there a reason you’re sitting in the dark?” There is a hint of amusement in Regina’s questioning tone. 

Emma notices Regina is wearing one of David’s thick cardigans over her sleeveless maroon dress once the brunette is close enough to be properly seen without the shine of the backyard’s lights glowing directly behind her. The sweater is large and heavy-looking, falling down her shoulders and covering her petite frame. Emma bites her cheek to stop herself from smiling too hard at the sight of the other woman. She looks like she’s stolen someone’s grandfather’s clothes, and it is honestly way more endearing than it should be. A brief picture of Regina snuggled up with a hot drink and a book in a cabin flashes in her mind briefly. And Emma has to physically shake the thought away to focus on Regina’s question.

“Two reasons, actually.” Emma unfolds her legs from underneath her and crawls over to the back doors to push open the second one, welcoming Regina in. She doesn’t wait to see if the brunette takes the silent invitation, quickly crawling over to the opposite end of the van on her hands and knees instead. “I’m checking to see how bright these solar lamps are after a day in the sun. David thought they would be a good way to cut back on how much electricity I’ll use. We’re working out the details for the electrical bits so we can pick out a battery and have the wiring done ASAP.” 

She collects the travel solar lamps and tosses one toward Regina when she turns back around. Regina, who hasn't moved from her spot at the back of the van, catches it effortlessly with both hands. Emma moves back to where she had been sitting and thinking before Regina joined her, this time laid down on her side. She switches her lamp on and lets it brighten the space in front of her with a soft yellow glow. The warmth of the light fits the cozy vibe she wants to have in the finished van, and she’s going to give David a thumbs up for them.

Regina twists and turns the small, collapsible lamp in her hands, eyeing it critically before tossing it back without any thoughts or comments given. “You disappeared after dinner. Is everything all right?” 

Emma smiles at the warm concern and nods. “All good. Just wanted to think without the noise of everyone else around.” 

While Regina looks relieved, there is a hint of disappointment she fails to hide. “Oh. Don’t let me get in the way.” 

Emma waves a hand through the air and taps the floor beside her. As if Regina’s presence is ever unwanted and not something Emma craves more than is probably healthy. Even when Emma does want some space from all of her friends and family, there is usually still a small part of her wishing Regina was around. Regina doesn’t seem to understand that no matter how obvious it is, though. 

“Better idea. Come in here and keep me company. I shouldn’t be left alone with my thoughts too long, you know that.” 

The smirk that appears on Regina’s mouth makes Emma smile. “No, I suppose you shouldn’t,” she agrees. Her eyes scan the floor of the van; it isn’t the most comfortable surface, but Emma has made sure to sweep it clean so there aren’t any nails or broken pieces of metal or wood to stick her when she sits.

Emma stretches out her arm and offers her hand. “Get in already. Don’t make me lie here by myself.”

Regina huffs like it pains her to accept Emma’s hand, but she climbs inside willingly, even stretches out beside Emma after one final visual sweep of the floor. “We could just as easily find somewhere to sit that isn’t inside an old van, you know,” she says as she settles, brushing her dress down over her hip and then pulling the cardigan around herself.

Emma shrugs the best she can while on her side. “I want to lie down with you, though. And I kinda also want to be alone.”

“I have several beds at my house. We could leave.”

Emma snorts inelegantly. “I’m starting to see why Ruby teases us so much.” 

Confusion is in her eyes when Regina turns her attention from the lamp she was looking at between them to Emma’s face. “And why is that?”

“You basically just invited me into your bed, for one.”

Regina frowns a bit, eyes narrowing. “A bed,” she corrects, “not necessarily my own. And it was only after you said you wanted to lie down with me.” She sounds almost defensive. Emma hadn’t meant anything by her comment, though. And Regina usually doesn’t care what Ruby has to say about their friendship. So Emma doesn’t understand why she seems so bothered this time. It’s strange.

Emma decides to drop the topic because of Regina’s reaction, doesn’t think it would be a smart idea to continue with how Ruby would probably have a field day if she knew Regina had gone grocery shopping for Emma just this morning. Unsure what to talk about next, Emma stays quiet and draws nonsense shapes and lines with her fingertip dragging across the floor. The lack of noise is only uncomfortable because she can feel Regina watching her. After a few heartbeats, Emma sighs and turns her head to Regina, hoping Regina will say something so she doesn’t have to try to figure out why the energy around them feels so heavy when it normally isn’t. 

Regina’s eyes are still slightly narrowed, focused completely on Emma in that unnerving way that she hates. Emma mimics the look, leaning in close. Her sudden motion must shock Regina because she jerks back with widened eyes. If they weren’t already on the floor, she’s sure Regina would be there now just from the force of her movement.

“What, you don’t like when someone stares at you like that? Surprising.” She tries to keep her face straight, but when Regina rolls her eyes and gives her an unamused look, she can’t help the little smile that starts to appear. 

“You really are an insufferable pain in my ass,” Regina tells her in what anyone else might believe is a tone of serious disdain, but Emma knows better and her small smile grows into a grin that feels like it’s too big for her face. Only Regina can make an insult sound strangely heartfelt. 

“Thank you. I practice extremely hard. Every day I ask myself: what will make Regina the most annoyed with me today? And then I just go with it. I’m glad it’s been working so well.”

There’s disapproval in her eyes, but she’s finally smiling at Emma again whilst she shakes her head. “Brat.”

Emma shrugs. “Only because I know you secretly love it.”

Regina doesn’t offer any sort of response, but Emma knows the truth and doesn’t need confirmation. 

They fall back into a lengthy silence. In fact, the van becomes so quiet that the sound of Regina clearing her throat makes Emma’s heart jump with alarm. Regina notices and allows the tiniest of smiles to curve her mouth, and just like that the boom boom boom of Emma’s heart calms. 

“Henry would have loved this.” Emma isn’t sure what _this_ is at first, but Regina gestures with a wide sweep of her hand to elaborate, the too-long sleeve of David’s sweater flapping aimlessly before Regina shakes it down her forearm. Emma reaches over and takes Regina’s arm into her hand so she can roll the sleeve for her. This earns her a silent thanks and another one of Regina’s smiles. “Do you remember his brief obsession with those small houses?” 

“Oh my god, how did I forget about that? Tiny houses, yes.” Emma laughs as she nods. “It was all we watched on Netflix when he was in control of our binge sessions, all of the tiny home shows and nerdy documentaries. What a weirdo.” 

Regina smiles fondly now, but Emma remembers how much she secretly hated the tiny houses. She only watched the shows with the two of them because Henry loved them so much. “I was thinking about the drafts you showed me this afternoon and was reminded of those few months where he was convinced he could design the perfect tiny home that would make even me want to give up my house.” 

Emma hadn't known about that. She tries not to focus on the sadness that always sits around the corner whenever Henry comes up. They miss him, but they've gotten better at talking about him without it depressing them. It's a little harder as she imagines him helping her out with her van, imagines him working on blueprints with her. Regina's right. Henry would love this. She clears her throat of the sadness and responds to what Regina had said. “Did he convince you?” Emma asks, and the question hasn’t even fully left her mouth when she realizes Regina's about to give her _the look,_ the _don’t be ridiculous, Emma_ one. 

As expected, Regina does just that and shakes her head. “Of course not. There isn’t enough space for one person to live in the oversized dollhouses, let alone the both of us.” 

Emma hums thoughtfully, looking around the van and trying to imagine what it will look like when it’s finished. She’s seen couples with little kids who have made their vans their permanent homes, bunk beds and all. Those vans were bigger than her own, but Emma knows what you do with your space and how you plan determines just how much you can get out of it. Thankfully, Emma doesn’t plan on actually living in hers. She’s had enough time living in a moving house when she lived inside her car. She wouldn’t go back to that even if someone paid her. 

“I guess this means you won’t be tagging along when I go on my grand adventure, then,” she says jokingly. 

“An adventure.” Regina says it far too seriously, though. Her tone doesn’t match Emma’s joking one. She _hmms_ in her throat, lifting her gaze to look into Emma’s eyes. “Is that what you’re looking for?” 

The question feels too heavy in the darkened quiet van. Suddenly everything feels too real. She is reminded of all of the soul-searching she has been doing this year, the wondering about what’s missing and what she needs to feel satisfied. She knows that’s what Regina is asking her about. Because Regina likes to peel back the layers of things Emma says. She hears more than the words that leave her mouth, digs deeper. 

Emma can feel her pulse thumping fiercely at her temples as Regina searches her face. She knows how easy she is to read, how good Regina is at dissecting and analyzing every bit of her without Emma needing to even say a word. It’s simultaneously unnerving and thrilling to be so completely seen, to be known. If she squirms a bit under the attention, who can really blame her? Regina’s laser focus is intense. 

Emma licks her lips. She fiddles with the little lamp between them and watches the light play across Regina’s face before answering honestly. “I’m not really sure what I’m looking for. I guess that’s the trouble here. I don’t know what I want, so it’s not like I know where to begin searching for it. Whatever _it_ is.” 

Regina’s features soften. Her smile speaks volumes as it curves delicately, warm and understanding when she hums in her throat. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but perhaps you should hit the brakes on the searching and instead welcome whatever might come your way.” Her mouth twists like the words are as bitter as a lemon on her tongue. “What you’re seeking might find its way to you in unexpected moments once you stop actively searching for it.”

“Hmm.” Emma’s face scrunches up and she brings her head closer to Regina’s. The brunette’s brow furrows with confusion as Emma farther enters her personal space, but Emma doesn’t answer the silent questioning in narrowed eyes. Instead, she gently taps the tip of her finger against Regina’s forehead and asks through a barely-contained chuckle, “Snow, is that you in there?” 

Regina swats her hand away and shoves Emma’s shoulder. She makes a decent attempt of trying to look unimpressed, but there’s no denying the way her eyes come alive with mirth and something that is enticingly playful. “Watch it,” Regina warns in a low voice that could have once been considered threatening but now only makes Emma laugh harder as she warms all over.

Emma grabs onto Regina’s hand before she can pull it back to herself. She doesn’t know what it is about Regina that makes her so touchy, so needy for connection, but she stopped questioning it long ago when she noticed Regina always squeezes back just as easily when Emma tangles their fingers together. She does this now as she rolls back onto her side and lets their hands rest on the floor of the van between them, the warm glow of the yellow light creating a spotlight.

“What happened to the woman who was all ‘screw fate and destiny because it’s bullshit,’ hmm? Because it sounds to me like you just told me to trust the universe to get me where I’m meant to be.” 

Regina wets her lips with a slow drag of the tip of her tongue and gives Emma a half-shrug. “She’s laying in the back of an odd smelling van with a woman she was destined to meet before the woman had yet to be born.” Regina chooses to look down at their hands instead of at Emma as she speaks. Her voice is quiet, words slow; Emma can feel the warmth of the air that passes through Regina’s lips on her fingers. “I’m not advocating leaving everything up to fate, nor am I dismissing the undeniable truth that some aspects of our lives are planned in some shape or form without our knowing. What I am saying is, I believe sometimes what we need in life finds its way to us regardless of the actions we take.”

She doesn’t directly spell it out, but Emma knows Regina means her, that Emma is something—someone—she needed in her life, and that makes her a little breathless. She squeezes around Regina’s hand tightly and smiles big and full when Regina slowly raises her eyes to meet Emma’s. 

“I’m really glad I was too stubborn to ever allow you to push me away all the times you tried.” 

Regina rolls her eyes at her, but she smiles softly.

Emma sucks the corner of her lip into her mouth and nibbles on it for a moment. It’s wild how far they’ve come since the night she brought Henry back to Storybrooke after he showed up at her Boston apartment. From threats and cursed turnovers and chainsaws to beloved apple trees, they’re _here,_ laughing together and holding hands and sharing quiet moments. Emma would have never imagined this for them nine years ago, but now she can’t imagine anything less. She can’t picture a life without Regina in it, doesn’t even want to try. 

“Suppose you’re right—” 

“That is usually the case.” 

Emma shakes her head, the fondness she feels making it hard to keep a straight face when she tries to be disapproving. Instead, Emma ends up grinning at Regina. “Suppose you’re right,” she repeats strongly, voice raising a notch, “and everything sorta just works out in the end and I stop feeling like something is missing, what do you think I should do to like, I don’t know, encourage the changes, let the universe or whatever know that I’m up for anything? Because I can’t just wait for it. Nothing is going to change if I don’t make some effort on my part.” 

Regina’s frown lines are more apparent when she’s concentrating on Emma the way she is now, all serious and thoughtful. Instead of answering Emma’s question, after a few moments of silence that was starting to feel uncomfortable, Regina lets go of Emma’s hand and sits up with her back against the insulated van wall. She clears her throat, the noise of it loud in the otherwise silent van. 

“This will be more comfortable once you have a bed in here.” 

Emma’s confusion is probably showing when she tilts her head back to look up at the other woman. “Huh?” 

Regina shakes her head and runs her fingers through her hair. “My back was beginning to hurt.” 

“Oh. Yeah, sorry about that,” Emma says, reaching down into her pocket for her phone to check the time. “If I had known we would end up staying out here so long, I would have grabbed one of the mats from Neal’s playroom or something.” She frowns at the phone, knowing Regina’s going to need to leave soon to head home. 

“That wasn’t where I was going with that, but I appreciate the concern,” she responds softly. Emma nods in reply, waiting for Regina to continue. “You asked me where I would like to go if the van was mine when we were discussing it yesterday.” 

Emma hums to share that she remembers and rolls onto her back, bending legs at their knees and folding her arms above her head so she can rest on her clasped hands. It had been a brief conversation, and Regina had barely answered the question. But Emma remembers asking. “Yeah, and?” 

Regina gestures like she’s telling Emma to go on despite Regina being the one speaking. “Well, where would _you_ choose to go?”

Different images flash in her mind: hiking trails, tall trees, calming rivers, dirt roads, the ocean late at night, the sun rising and setting, stars and the moon in the night sky, campfires with toasted marshmallows. Emma can picture dozens of possible places to travel to and explore. But she shrugs the best she can because every time she tries imaging herself in the scenarios she comes up with, it makes her feel like she’s going to be sick. Which is an unfamiliar feeling; imagining herself escaping used to be the only thing that kept her sane. 

“Take some time to think about it if you need to,” Regina offers patiently. 

But Emma shakes her head. “I don’t need time. I...” She huffs, squeezing her eyes shut so tightly they hurt and she sees colorful spots behind her eyelids. “I thought about it yesterday when you asked me if I was planning on traveling. But—” 

“But?” Regina encourages. 

Her curiosity makes Emma’s cheeks feel warm. The answer she gives Regina doesn’t help the matter any. “I couldn’t picture myself going anywhere, not when it meant I wouldn’t get to spend time with you anymore. It only worked when I, um, well, when I imagined us doing it together.”

The falter in Regina’s breathing pattern is the only sign that Regina has heard her, and Emma’s stomach is feeling too tied up and uncomfortable for her to look Regina’s way to see what expression is on her face. Is she shocked? Should Emma not have said that? Emma knows they’re a lot closer than they used to be, but she hasn’t forgotten how easily Regina can shut down and put up her walls. 

It feels as though minutes of heavy silence pass, but it’s likely only a handful of seconds. A quiet, “Oh,” is all Regina says at first. Then, “Okay.” And to finish up her one-word responses, she asks, “Where?” 

“Where?” Emma repeats slowly, peeking one eye open and trying to get a look at Regina. But Regina’s looking—staring, like really, really hard—at the wall on the other side of the van and purposely not looking at Emma. 

When Regina swallows, it’s loud. It almost sounds painful in her throat. “Where do you picture us?” 

_Everywhere._

Emma’s heart rate skyrockets. It isn’t a particularly cold night, no cooler than it normally is during the summer, but Emma shivers all over when she thinks about packing up the van and taking Regina to explore somewhere new together. But Emma feels a little too exposed admitting it aloud without the pretense of a joke, like it’s a secret she’s not supposed to share—not even with the woman who has been by her side for years, the woman Emma happily claims as her best friend.

So she breezily responds with a simple answer that makes her feel less vulnerable. “You know, here, there...” She pauses for a moment before adding, “Wherever the van takes us.” 

A hum shouldn’t be heavy with meaning, with emotions. But Emma’s unsurprised Regina’s hum falls like a cement block in the deep, churning sea in Emma’s belly. This is the same woman who can speak full sentences with an arch of her eyebrow, after all.

Emma hears the quiet press of a button, the only noise in the van. She opens her eyes and properly looks over to Regina, wondering why she’s turned the lamp off but doesn’t voice her curiosity. There is a very faint glow coming in from outside, but the barn door is mostly shut and all of the lights inside are off. Everything is silhouettes and darkness, lines and curves and blurriness. 

Regina turns, and Emma can only tell she’s being looked at because the whites of dark eyes are still visible. “Where would you like the van to take us?” Regina questions this time, sounding less sure of the question with each word that leaves her mouth. 

Again, Emma’s heart beats too harshly and she thinks: _everywhere_. She dampens her lips and stares at the shape of Regina’s head for a long moment before she answers. She decides not to half-ass her response this time, can hear the curiosity and intrigue beneath Regina’s uncertainty and feels compelled to be less vague. It’s just Regina, she reminds herself—although there is nothing _just_ about Regina, and especially not right now.

“I don’t think I really care, honestly. I keep thinking _everywhere_ and imagining us going all over. National parks. Beaches. Deep into the woods somewhere. But really, it’s not everywhere. It’s more like _anywhere_. There’s nowhere in particular I want to see, but I, well, I wouldn’t want to see any of it without you there with me. Anywhere we go would be an experience I look forward to. But that’s because it would be us.” 

Emma lets out a long breath. She wishes she could properly make out Regina’s features in the dark. She wants to know what Regina is thinking, if what Emma has just said is as heavy and meaningful for Regina as it felt for Emma. 

Somehow she feels more at ease and more unsettled at the same time. Emma doesn’t like the contradiction of it all. It’s weird. But when Regina’s gentle touch finds her arm and brushes Emma’s skin, she continues in a whisper, adding, “I really like when it’s just us for a little while.”

“I—” Regina begins and falters after the single, rough breath of a word. 

She retracts her hand, but she only moves away from Emma long enough for the heat of her touch to slightly cool. When she touches her this time, it’s firmer, reassuring, like Regina can tell Emma’s stomach immediately knotted itself up into a mess of nerves as soon as Regina retreated. Emma reaches up and covers Regina’s hand, smiling encouragingly. She doesn’t know if Regina can see the smile or not, but it is there for her nonetheless. 

Trying once more, Regina clears her throat. Her voice is stronger now, back to its usual confident timbre. “I was not expecting that,” she admits. 

Emma worries. “Too much?” 

Regina shakes her head in the negative without hesitation, stopping Emma from panicking for no reason. “Absolutely not too much. Quite unexpected, yes. But warming to hear.” 

Emma perks up and easily rolls back onto her left side to properly face Regina, propping her head up. “Yeah?”

Softly, Regina hums. “Yes.”

“Okay. Okay.” Emma nods because she can’t manage much else when she suddenly feels like there isn’t enough oxygen inside the van for her to breathe in. “Cool,” she says dumbly, words failing her.

There’s a lightness to the small laugh that Regina breathes out, a warmth that Emma loves. “I cherish our time together as well. I do hope I’ve left no room for uncertainty and this is merely a reminder to you.”

She’s thankful Regina turned off their little lamp because she’s pretty sure she’s blushing all over. She’s also definitely smiling way too hard. “I know.” Emma takes and releases a deep breath, then repeats. “You may act like you’re simply putting up with me and I’m the biggest annoyance you’ve ever encountered sometimes, but you and I both know you’d be miserable without me.” 

Regina doesn’t hold back when she laughs. The full sound of it vibrates in the air and makes Emma grin—because how can anyone _not_ smile when Regina’s laughter sounds like a gift from the gods and it’s so free? “Don’t push it. You _are_ the biggest annoyance I’ve ever encountered. Luckily for you, you have enough redeeming qualities for me to ignore that.” 

“Oh, yeah? Tell me about them.” 

“You’re impossibly full of yourself enough as is. You don’t require my help.” 

“In case you can’t see, I’m pouting right now.” 

“That does not affect me.” 

“Liar.” 

Regina simply makes a noise in her throat as she shuffles. 

The silence is comfortable enough that Emma doesn’t bother trying to fill it. She does wonder, however, what Regina is thinking about. Regina hasn’t directly said anything in response to Emma sharing that she wouldn’t want to go anywhere without her, that the only time Emma can picture herself leaving is when she’s thinking about the two of them traveling somewhere together. Emma wants to know if that’s something Regina might actually be interested in doing one day when the van is finished. 

Would Regina want to explore somewhere new with Emma?

“I have an early start in the morning,” says Regina. She sounds regretful, a sigh following her words. 

“We can cancel tomorrow and stay in the van,” Emma jokes, forcing herself into a seated position. Her spine isn’t too happy with her, and neither is the elbow she’d been leaning on most of her time in the van. 

“Mm. Get back to me once you’ve put a bed in here and I don’t have to sit on the floor.” 

Emma pauses, in the process of getting up. “Seriously?” 

There’s a moment of silence that stretches for a second or two too long. Regina is as still as a statue. But then her shoulders move in a small shrug and she holds out her hands, letting Emma help her to her feet. “Given enough time to make proper preparations beforehand, then, yes, seriously.” 

Emma’s suddenly excited about possibly hitting the road when just the day before she didn’t think she would. “That would be... Wow. You would really... Really?” 

Regina wraps her hand around Emma’s wrist and gives it a squeeze that manages to convey how serious she is. “If you, after truly thinking this through—and I don’t mean overnight; you need to be certain of your decision—still want to bring me along with you, then that is something we can discuss. You might find it won’t be difficult persuading me.” 

“I _can_ be very persuasive,” Emma says through her beaming grin.

Regina hums, looking happy as she leads them out of the van, the light from outside finally able to reach her face. “Think about it.” 

Emma is certain she’s going to be thinking about very little else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter before the road tripping part begins!!!! one day I will learn how to just get to the point and not need a million and one words before the few thousand that cover what I actually want to write about. today is not that day tho
> 
> thank you thank you thank you for reading, for the comments and kudos, and for just being lovely people. truly sorry for the wait. totally didn't expect it would be so long before I could post this chapter. but thankfully things have calmed down a bit and life is somewhat normal for me again. so that shouldn't happen anymore
> 
> hope 2021 is treating y'all well
> 
> stay safe xx

**Author's Note:**

> eep I'm super nervous sharing something new. like mega nervous. writing is hard. i could ramble about how social media totally killed my creativity. but I won't. I know that's not why y'all are here haha but let's just say leena and social media don't vibe. so I needed to escape that and find my way back to my happy place. which has always been writing and sharing stories that mean something to me. I've missed connecting with y'all this way, so here I am! and here the beginning of this story is.
> 
> thanks for reading and I appreciate any type of positive feedback y'all have. honestly don't want any negative commentary or "constructive criticism" here. so keep that to yourself, pls and thanks. I'm here for a good time, and this is mostly self-indulgent nonsense. it'll just be me and my favorite tropes over and over bc I'm predictable. so if you're into that: cool. if not? kindly move on to the next fic.
> 
> okay. that's all. hope you're all doing well and staying safe.
> 
> (edit: decided to make a twitter account just for fic content @hummingbirdsfic — read pinned tweet if you decide to follow.)  
> leena xx


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